


How to Seduce a Married Woman

by allsorrowsborne



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: 1920s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Prohibition Era, Anti-Gay Policing, Canon-Typical Violence, Deception, Detective Agency, F/F, First Person Villanelle, Genderqueer, Genderqueer Villanelle, Historical Accuracy, Masquerade Ball, New York City, Other, POV Alternating, Prohibition, Queer Bars, Seduction, Sex, petty crime
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:40:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28114032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allsorrowsborne/pseuds/allsorrowsborne
Summary: 1920s New York City. Villanelle is arrested for the crime of seduction, punishable by five years in prison. Eve is a self-employed private detective looking to expand her line of work. Set against a backdrop of prohibition, queer bar culture, police corruption, and mob violence. Sex, violence, amorality. A love letter to the queer and trans past. Historically accurate, give or take.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 221
Kudos: 248





	1. The Detective and the Seducer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive thanks to Diana Krege for the 1920s artwork in my profile pic (twitter @dk_srrybb)
> 
> \---
> 
> TW: mentions of domestic violence and police brutality

_\---_

_You want me to show you how to do it, Eve? How to seduce a married woman? I’m very good, you know. An excellent teacher. I will tell you about the last one, the one that got me into this shit. She is very easy. She likes compliments. Just say something nice about her shoes. Her hair is shitty but don’t tell her that. Tell her about her eyes. Stare at her lips while you are talking. Hold her hand. Kiss her knuckles. Suck softly on her fingers. Not yet, Eve! Not yet. That was just an example. You have to go slow, okay? Here. Let me show you. You have to be patient. You have to learn to take your time. We are playing the long game, Eve. Like it or not. And you are going to play it with me._

\---

In 1926, spring came late to New York City. Twelve days into March and the remnants of snow still clung to the sidewalk, unwilling to give up its hold. Melt. Freeze. Melt. Fuck. Eve swore under her breath as icy water soaked through her boots. Worn-down stitching? Ripped sole? Whatever. Ice had a habit of finding its way in. Eve kicked at the slush. It slipped in further. Under tongue and in through eyelets. At least today she hadn’t fallen. That was yesterday’s news.

“Eve!”

She heard Bill before she saw him, calling her from the news stand on the corner, waving a magazine. She knew what it was. _Kodakery: Magazine for Amateur Photographers_. She had been counting the days until it came out. She snatched it from Bill and flicked through the pages. An article on how to take portraits of babies? Ew. No thanks. But outside photography on cloudy days? Redeveloping sepia prints on velox? Eve smiled.

“Thanks, Bill.”

“This too, for my favorite customer.” Bill pulled another magazine from under the counter. “They were going quickly, so I put one aside.”

A JILTED GIRL’S REVENGE

The words were emblazoned across the front page of the _National Police Gazette_ , above an image of two women fighting, one kicking another who lay on the ground. Clothes hung loosely from their bodies, slipping off shoulders, naked arms and backs exposed. Other women watched in horror. Someone tried to pull them apart. The accompanying caption matched Eve’s thoughts: “Girl fight! Girl fight! Of course their clothes are coming off.” Eve laughed deeply, shaking her head.

“Oh Bill, this is so wrong.”

“I know,” he whispered conspiratorially, “and only 10 cents!”

Eve grabbed a packet of Lucky Strikes from the rack. She fished in her pocket for money. Two magazines, a packet of cigarettes. Thirty cents total. Bill put her purchases into a bag.

“Are you coming to the Hangout tomorrow? It’s Anton’s birthday.”

Anton was Bill’s latest. He had stuck around longer than most. Eve didn’t understand what Bill saw in him. Truth be told, she didn’t understand what anybody saw in anybody. Sex? Sure. But after that? Relationships were a waste of time. Eve had her hand and her “men’s magazines.” She had the bars when she needed a body. Why bother with anything else?

“I can’t. I’m working. Cheating husband at the New Yorker hotel.”

“Ooh fancy. Maybe you’ll meet a rich and sexy stranger in the lobby?”

“Maybe I’ll do my job and pay rent?”

Bill laughed. Another customer arrived and his attention shifted.

“Fine. We’ll make do without you.” He shooed her away fondly. She was halfway down the block when he called to her again. “I’ll be sure to give your love to Gemma.”

Gemma. Fuck. Eve still hadn’t figured out what to do about Gemma. Oh well. It could wait.

\---

It took fifty-five minutes to walk to the courthouse. Eve’s limp had gotten worse during winter and the lingering cold slowed her stride. By the time she arrived, it was already dark. Kenny had probably left by now, heading back to the newspaper office to type up his report for tomorrow’s Police Court Column. It wouldn’t say much. It never did. Just a run-down on the day’s drunks and miscreants, hookers and pickpockets, the low-level nuisance offenders dragged before the Police Court Judge. Kenny didn’t seem to mind. All writers have to start somewhere. That’s what he told her. Even Mark Twain started here. Besides, big-name criminals passed through sometimes. Last summer, the Brooklyn Five murder case started here, when an unsuspecting cop arrested Jimmy Valdez for pissing in public. The case was transfered to the Criminal Court, but not before Kenny had shared space with a brutal killer, locking eyes, twelve feet away. Some people had all the luck. Eve could only dream. 

Right now, her dreams were of a different scale. She pulled a stack of posters from her bag and looked them over.

_Eve’s Eye_

_Private Detective for Hire. Criminal. Civil. Domestic_

_Results and Discretion Guaranteed_

Dom’s neat handwriting lined the bottom of the page. Office address. Hours of business. Professional enough. But why had he added a few of his drawings? An eye, a camera, a pair of handcuffs. Eve cringed. Maybe she should have supervised him more closely? Oh well. Too late now. And honestly, Eve didn’t actually care. Design? Aesthetics? Whatever. Nobody of importance would see them. She just needed to bring in new business and maybe expand her clientele. 

It had been almost a year since she had launched the agency. Almost a year since Niko had left. Her clients were women seeking divorce. It wasn’t easy. Husbands were assholes. Eve knew that. The law was worse. Eve knew that too. A woman couldn’t get divorced without evidence that her spouse had committed a marital crime. Battery or adultery usually. That’s where Eve came in. Private Eye. Divorce Detective. Sometimes, she took photographs of bruises. She loved the visuals. The different colors, the way blood spilled beneath the skin, the challenge of capturing damaged flesh. But usually the women cried. Sometimes they wanted to tell their story. Eve had to comfort them. Gross.

Cheating husbands were much easier. Eve trailed them across the city as they met girlfriends in hotel rooms, screwed prostitutes in garbage-strewn alleyways, kept second families on the other side of town. She peaked through windows, lurked in lobbies. She wished she could be more invasive – hide under beds, inside closets, maybe even inside luggage – but there was no need. Eve was a photographer, not a hitman. She pointed a camera, not a gun. She documented domestic ruin. She knew it well. Sometimes her clients welcomed the evidence. Sometimes the evidence broke their hearts. Eve didn’t care. She barely noticed. Either way she got paid.

Lately, though, it left her wanting, wading through the women’s sadness. Wives betrayed, bruised or beaten, or just beat down by conformity’s pull. Her days drifted without direction. Her nights twisted without rest. She needed more. More excitement? More danger? Something soon to quell the feeling, churning, catching in her stomach, that time – relentless – passed her by. Sometimes, she felt that she had been cheated. Not by Niko. By life. Daydreams of other jobs, other lives, other roads she might have traveled. A private eye for the shady cases that respectable agencies wouldn’t touch? A crime scene photographer for the _Police Gazette_? She wouldn’t work for the NYPD. Corrupt bastards. She would never know whose side she was on. Besides, the new chief was a dickhead. No. Eve wanted something risky. Something bloody. She wanted to dirty her hands. She shook her head, laughing sadly. Eve Polastri, looking for trouble? Who was she kidding? Trouble would never come looking for her.

The wall outside the courthouse was crowded with posters and advertisements. She tore a few down to make some room. The dime museum on West 42nd Street. Capitol Theater over on Broadway. She kept the one for Sak’s 5th Avenue, neatly folded and placed in her pocket. Maybe she would get a new wealthy client and go on a shopping spree. When was the last time she bought new clothes? She daydreamed of her ideal client. A corporate boss spying on competition? A politician digging up dirt? A gangster wanting to bring down his rival? That would be sweet. Anything but another sad woman, another divorce. She’d had enough of those for a lifetime.

A loud voice cut through Eve’s thoughts.

“Do not touch me, you little shit.”

A police van had pulled up outside of the courthouse. Two officers dragged a person from the back, pushing them onto the icy ground. A rough voice snarled indignantly.

“Hey, these are expensive clothes.”

Eve watched as one of the cops slammed a billy club into the prisoner’s stomach, before dragging them off into the courthouse. Eve sighed, then turned away. Sure, life without trouble was boring. But maybe boring wasn’t so bad after all.

_\---_

_Can I tell you a secret, Eve? A trick of the trade? Life can be hard for people like us. We get beaten with billy clubs, locked up in hospitals, arrested for the way we look, the way we love. We carry bruises, inside and out. We bear scars. Here’s the trick. Don’t hide it, okay? Take it in. Collect it. Use it. It hurts but in the end, it is worth it. It gives you an easy way in. The married women eat it up. Savior complex? Mother love? I don’t know. Here. I’ll show you. What’s your worst memory, Eve? Shh, don’t tell me. Think of it. Let it hurt you. Not too much. I don’t want your snot. I don’t want your sobbing. Maybe later I’ll ask for your sobbing. For now, I want you to stay in control. That’s it. Are you ready? Cry for me, Eve. A single tear. Let it fall. Beautiful. You make me want to wipe it away. Can I? Yes? Hmm, that’s better. That was amazing. I think I want you to do that again. You’re something else when you cry._

_\---_

“Touch me again and I’ll fuck your mother.” 

The cop shoved Villanelle down the courthouse stairs that led to the holding cells in the basement. Hands cuffed, she fell hard. Chin on concrete. Bloodied forehead. Bruised knee. Another billy club to the stomach. She didn’t cry. She didn’t need to. Anger always hit first.

“Suck my dick you piece of shit.”

As insults went, it wasn’t her best. Pain could do that. It cut through numbness, dredged up feeling, make her lose her way with words. 

The cop sneered.

“One more thing you don’t have, sweetheart. I think you left it at back at the house.”

He hiccupped with laughter, as if he were funny, and dug his fingernails into her armpits. She pictured the dirt and shit beneath them, as he dragged her to the booking desk. _I’ll choke you with bare hands_ , she thought, _and_ _watch your eyes widen in panic, tongue slackening, spit hanging_. _I’ll threaten you with my bowie knife_ , _tease you and gut you and watch you bleed_.

“Where do you want this one, Tommy? In with the ladies or in with the fellas?”

_I’ll_ _cut off your dick, make you swallow it, make you watch_.

The guard on duty looked up from behind his newspaper. “Villanelle? You again? Put her in with the ladies.”

“You are just jealous because I know how to use it.” Villanelle yelled. Her throat hurt. It felt good. “You have never made a woman scream like that.”

The cops were gone, already joking about their next victim, or maybe a strip show, or maybe a drink. Did they even hear Villanelle? No audience. No reaction. Where was the fun in that?

\---

The holding cell was cold. It was still early for a Friday evening, but a dozen people filled the space, milling around. Drunks mostly. A handful of hookers. No bull-daggers, but later perhaps, if the cops raided the bars again. There were no beds. No furniture. A couple of people sprawled on the floor. One groaned. Another snored. Villanelle had been here too many times. She had seen the vomit, pooling and stagnant, smeared over concrete. The pot to piss in, spilled and ignored. She would stand for as long as she could.

“Hey handsome.” A drunken woman wandered over, reeking of alcohol and cigarettes. “You got something there for me?” Her eyes wandered to Villanelle’s crotch. She stretched out a hand. Villanelle grabbed it and twisted hard. The woman squealed. Ugly sound. Ugly woman.

“Do not touch me without permission.” Villanelle twisted again and pushed her away. “I am not in the mood.”

Ugh this was shit. Friday night arrests were the worst. Three nights until the court reopened. So boring. So annoying. And to think that she could still be with Maria, by the fireplace, holding her hips, pulling her -

“Villanelle, is that you?”

Villanelle recognized the voice. Soft-spoken. Shy, almost. She turned and saw a young woman, pale skin, mottled cheeks. Maybe she had kissed her before? She couldn’t put a name to the face.

“Amber, remember? My brother did some work for your uncle.” 

Villanelle didn’t remember, but that didn’t matter. She was already one step ahead.

“Amber, hi!”

Villanelle smiled and greeted Amber as a long lost friend. She hugged her carefully, not too closely. Upper body, arms only. Hips distant. Pelvis still. Soon enough. Amber was warm. She smelled of chestnuts. Her breasts were soft against Villanelle’s binding. There were worse ways to pass the time.

“What are you in for?” Amber asked.

Fucking Maria.

Villanelle could still smell her on her fingers. Feel the slap of her fleshy thighs. Hear the cries of the outraged husband – Maria’s sobs – “Astankova, you’re under arrest.” The grip of the cops as they pulled her away, off of Maria, out of Maria, making Villanelle strip off her harness – “hey, shithead, that was a gift!” – abandoned on the living room floor.

Fucking Maria.

Villanelle had winked at her, blown her a kiss, performing for the scandalized neighbors. Pants unbuckled, jacket opened, Villanelle knew that she still looked stunning – sharp, rebellious – climbing into the back of the police van. She knew the routine. She knew it was stupid. She knew she would be back here soon. Meanwhile.

“Ah you know, this and that. Impersonation? Immoral conduct? Wrong place, wrong time. You?”

Amber shrugged coyly. Maybe she blushed. “Same, you know?”

Villanelle quirked an eyebrow. She started flirting without even trying. The tone of her voice shifted slightly, softened slowly, sweet like honey, trapping flies.

“Come on, Amber. What did you do?”

This time Amber blushed for real. “Flashed my fanny to a copper on accident?”

That accent. Those words. Villanelle remembered her now. There weren’t many British girls that hung around the Russian bars, especially not with mouths like that. Dirty. Pretty. Villanelle’s eyes flicked to Amber’s lips, felt their promise, found her opening.

“Poor baby. Hey, do you want to claim a spot in the corner ? I’ll put down my jacket so we’ve somewhere to sit.”

And somehow, she made it sound romantic. Somehow, she made it sound like a date. Somehow, she made Amber feel special so by the time, later that evening, that Villanelle’s hand was under her skirt, pulling down stockings, slipping past underwear, it just felt right.

A holding cell. A piss-soaked floor. Bodies and boredom on a birthday night.

\---

_Try this, Eve. Listen to her. Make her feel important. Make her feel seen. Find the light inside of her that no one else notices. Describe its radiance. Render its warmth. Don’t touch her, Eve. Not yet. Wait, okay? She’ll touch you first. See. Like this. Wait until she leans against you. Wait some more – startle a little – a sweet surprise – then lean in too. Melt, Eve. God that’s good. Now, touch her slowly. Cup her elbow. Check to see if it’s okay. Is this okay, Eve? Yes? You sure? Okay. Here’s the tough part. Show vulnerability. Emanate strength. Both together. Tricky, huh? She wants danger – they all want danger – but show her that she’s safe with you, safe enough to let herself go. Don’t say you love her. She’ll see right through it. It’s all about balance. Kiss her stretch marks. Let her fall asleep against you. Pretend that you are sleeping too. When she wakes, she’s yours._

_\---_

“All rise for the honorable Judge Martens.”

Two guards herded the last of the inmates into the courtroom. Villanelle moved among them, squinting at the overhead lights. Three days in that shitty cell, dark and rancid, passing time however she could. Amber had been very helpful. A few more hours and she would be free.

Maybe she would head home, heat some water for a bath, clean the cut that felt infected -

The Judge who entered the courtroom was new. Older. Stern. She surveyed the scene with marked disinterest. It made no difference. They were all cogs in the same machine.

Villanelle too.

She knew the drill. Wait all morning. Half the afternoon. Listen to the litany of charges that would blur together by 10am. Drunk and disorderly. Public nuisance. Vulgar language. Petty theft. Masquerading in the attire of the opposite sex. Pissing in public. Public indecency. Immoral acts.

Pay the fine. Leave.

Judge Martens referred some cases to the Criminal Court. She doled out higher fines than usual. Some people couldn’t pay. They went to jail. Villanelle didn’t care.

Maybe after she had bathed and changed, she would track down Konstantin, grab some food at The Blue Horse, play some blackjack, maybe catch the El uptown – ~~~~

The Judge was efficient, at least. Monday’s docket always moved slowly, slogging through the weekend backlog, but Martens pushed through quickly, clearing forty-five cases by lunch time. By early afternoon, only a few remained. Amber, Villanelle and three men who had fought over stolen soap.

“Who is so stupid to fight over soap?”

Villanelle nudged Amber. Amber giggled. Her hand rested on Villanelle’s knee.

“Want to get a drink after?”

Why not? The Judge called Amber forward. Villanelle watched as she sneered at the fine. $50. Stiff but doable. Amber would take a few extra customers and earn it back within the week. At least Martens had skipped the lecture.

“Villanelle Astankova, please approach the bench.”

Maybe she’d pick up a bottle of whisky –

Amber waited at the back of the courtroom. Villanelle strutted under her gaze. It felt good. It always felt good.

“Villanelle Astankova, you are charged with the crime of seduction – ”

“No I’m not.”

Villanelle smiled and winked at Amber. This was stupid. Judge Martens had made a mistake. Of course, she had seduced Maria. She had seduced a lot of women. Life was boring. It passed the time. But these things never ended in court. Hardly ever. One time maybe. Threats were made. But in the end those threats were empty. Charges were dropped. Just like now. Maria had dropped the charges, hadn’t she? Why was Judge Martens still talking?

“ – a felony under New York State law, punishable by five years in prison. How do you plead?”

_How do I plead?_ Villanelle thought. _It was Maria who did the pleading, she virtually begged me, she called me wolf and asked me to fuck her and got on all fours on the fireside rug._ The memory snaked through Villanelle’s stomach, landing hard between her legs. She inhaled sharply, as if she could smell it.

Maybe Maria would be home this evening and they could pick up where they left off? She’d pay a fine for a misdemeanor – indecent acts or wearing men’s clothing – and 

“Miss Astankova?”

“Not guilty.”

Maybe she would stop at Polly’s on West 4th Street and have a drink with Amber first? One more fuck before Maria?

“Your plea has been entered into the record. You will be remanded to your cell until your trial in the Criminal Court.” Judge Martens consulted the ledger on her desk. “April 28. Bail is set at $1,000. Next.”

Villanelle heard it but didn’t understand it. She looked for Amber, who stood slowly, shrugged sadly, already slipping out of the room. Amber had wanted that drink but there would be others. There always were others.

“Amber, wait! Get Konstantin. He’ll be at the Casino Russe.”

Handcuffs snapped at Villanelle’s wrists. Hands pulled her off the bench, pushed her roughly towards the doors. The swoop in her gut intensified and redirected, away from Amber, away from Maria, towards a feeling hard to register, harder to name.

“I will tear you a new asshole, you fuckers.”

Villanelle’s threats flew then sputtered. Angry, aimless, dissipating. Trying to salvage her pride, unnoticed. Spitting blood and missing the mark. The Judge had already left the courtroom. Amber was already back on the streets. Maria? Where the fuck was Maria?

The guard led Villanelle back to the cell.

Still dark. Still rancid. Emptied out. Alone.

\---

_Are you nervous, Eve? It’s okay. It know it is hard to try new things. Don’t be scared. I know what I’m doing. Soon you will know it too. I’ll show you, okay? I’m sure you’ll be a very fast learner. And I will be with you while you practice. Right beside you. Hands on. When it is time, you will do it alone. With her. You two together. I won’t be with you, but I’ll still be with you. Is that confusing? Don’t worry. By the time we get that far, you’ll know exactly what I mean. Now, breathe deeply. Relax, okay? Are you ready? I’ve got you, Eve. I do. I promise. This is going to be fun._

_\---_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a new writing direction for me! Please let me know if you like it. Thanks. 
> 
> twitter @olderthaneve


	2. The Case in Question

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve and Villanelle meet

_\---_

_I’ve been thinking about it, Eve, the tear that you cried when I asked you to do so. It got to me. It made me pause. I didn’t expect that. It shone a spotlight on your beauty. Do you mind if I say you are beautiful? You are many other things too. I don’t want to be reductive. I don’t want to lead us astray. I know that we are here for business. I am very good at business. A true professional. I’m sure the same is true of you._

\---

“Move, asshole.”

The man glared at Eve as she elbowed her way through the hotel lobby. Nine p.m. on a Saturday night and the New Yorker was already packed. Hotel guests and weekend revelers milled around, the air thick with smoke and perfume, promise and sex. Eve cut through to the ballroom. Music layered over laughter. A stranger brushed against her ass. She raked her cigarette over his hand. “Oops, sorry.” The crowd, at least, worked in her favor. It let her do her job unnoticed. There. She saw him. Victor Kedrin. Sitting at a corner table, fiddling with the stem of his glass.

Eve claimed a nearby table. She was grateful to sit for a moment. Her leg still hurt from the cold night air. That, at least, she could blame on the accident. It had been eighteen months now, give or take, since the streetcar had jumped off the tracks and plowed into a crowd of pedestrians. Three people died. Not Eve. Metal had torn through her thigh, barely missing the femoral artery. She was lucky, that’s what they said. The city had settled out of court. Eve was left with a minor limp. Pain and stiffness on cold days. A killer scar. Convalescence had been a bitch. Eve had been house bound for two and a half months. Ten long weeks of nothing but Niko, fussing and judging. Hovering close. She had needed a hobby so she wouldn’t go mad. Or kill him. One of the two. Photography was the latest craze. She had taken some of the compensation money and sent Dom, her nephew, to buy her a camera. The brand new model Lecia 1(a). Niko would have said no.

Sitting in the New Yorker ballroom, Eve played with the camera case. She had tracked Kedrin for three weeks. He always followed the same routine. He checked his watch, waiting for someone. Eve waited for someone too.

“Good evening, Detective Polastri.” Hugo, the head bellboy, slid onto the chair beside her. She had met him when she had launched her business. He had taught her the tricks of the trade. She now had connections at most hotels. Staff who let her loiter in lobbies and granted her access to private lounges. Some, like Hugo, who slipped her keys that let her enter guests’ rooms. “Who’s the lucky fella tonight?”

Eve paid Hugo a generous percentage, but mostly he wanted this. Breaktime gossip. Salacious details. Who fucked who. Where. How. He didn’t want to hear of the wives, picking through the wreckage of marriage. Just sex. Eve obliged. Tonight’s case was boring, though. Cheating husband. Steady mistress. They always kissed on the dance floor, before retreating to a room.

“No elevator access then?” Hugo’s disappointment was palpable.

Eve smiled. “No need. I can ruin his life from here.”

Eve had ruined her own life too, according to Niko. Fucking Niko. The accident had changed her, he said. Messed up her morals. Messed up her head. He was wrong, of course. The accident had just woken her up. Surfaced what was already there. The camera though? Transformative. It had made her slow down and notice her surroundings. It had given her a reason to pay attention, to look at the world as if it were new. Point. Frame. Shoot. Capture. It had given her permission to watch. She had scrutinized everything. Thought about light and composition. Who did she want to be in her frame? Who did she want to cut from the scene? That type of thinking was hard to undo.

Niko had tolerated it at first. A quirky hobby for his quirky wife. But then Eve had brought home chemicals. Blacked out windows. Claimed a room of the house as her own. She had held an image of life in her hands and dimmed the light to birth it in darkness. She had watched it bloom across the page. Magic. Science. Hers.

Once Eve could walk unassisted, photography had led her to magazines at the corner newsstand. The magazines had led her to Bill, a generous man who made recommendations. The recommendations had led to a friendship. Sometimes they had gone out for drinks. Niko had not approved. Eve had tried to reassure him. Bill liked men. Niko had not approved. Bill had introduced her to men’s magazines, dime novels, lurid stories of sex and violence, nudes and weapons, burlesque shows and murder victims. Eve had gasped at the illustrations, surprised at how much they turned her on. She had tried to read a story to Niko. Niko had not approved.

“Is that her?” Hugo asked excitedly. A young woman approached Eve’s target. Kedrin stood and kissed her cheek. He looked at her with lust and longing, held her hands, sat back down, and didn’t let go. Eve laughed. “Action time.” Soon that look would drain from his eyes.

In the end, Niko had betrayed her first. An affair with a secretary at the school. Even that was by-the-book. Typical for a man his age. Eve didn’t care. She had cheated too by then, although her affairs were all in her mind. She had wanted him gone. He had wanted to stay. Bill had shown her the legal section at the public library and armed with a reference book and a camera, she had documented her husband’s crimes. Her name was Alice. Eve had watched them through the window, Alice lying under Niko. She had looked as bored as Eve always felt. Eve had thought that she might have felt jealous, watching her husband fuck someone else. She had not. She hadn’t felt anything. Later, when she’d developed the negatives, she had just felt proud of her photography skills.

\---

_Are you ready, Eve? Can I tell you about injuries? They work too. A bruise that pulses under fingers? A small cut in need of treatment? Tell her that it stings a little. Shiver at the fuss of her fingers. Wince at the swipe of the cotton swab as she drags it carefully over your wound. Let her feel her power to hurt you. To heal you. To comfort you. It’s the only power she knows. What’s that, Eve? You want to try it? Okay. Wow. I didn’t expect that. I didn’t know. No, it’s perfect. Beautiful actually. Can I touch it? How high does it go? Oops. Sorry. See what you do? You make me lose my footing, Eve. Do to her what you do to me. Tell her a story about your scar. Lies. Truth. It doesn’t matter. Add a tremor to your voice. Hesitate. Blink back tears. You’re in._

_\---_

“Astankova? Move it. You’re out.”

When the guard opened the cell door on Wednesday, Villanelle was slumped in the corner, head against her rolled up jacket. She licked her wounds. Grazed skin, sharp and salty. Five nights in that holding cell. Long enough to punch a wall and bust her knuckles. Long enough to bust her hubris, make her think she’d been abandoned, doubt that Amber – Maria – Konstantin – anyone would ever come.

Konstantin waited by the booking desk. He shuffled awkwardly, looking everywhere but at the guard. Villanelle smiled at his stupid face.

“Smell me, you asshole.” 

She hugged him tightly, shoving his face into her armpit. She hadn’t washed. She smelled like shit. That’s what he got for taking so long.

They left the basement. Up the staircase, passing cops. Her stomach still hurt from Friday’s beating. Her scabbed chin pussed and throbbed. She looked for blood stains on the concrete. Konstantin cut in.

“The bail, Villanelle? It is a lot of money. And these charges? What were you thinking? We’ve talked about this.”

Villanelle shrugged. “She got me a present. It would have been rude not to thank her.” She couldn’t see the signs of her struggle. Couldn’t distinguish the damp from the blood.

They stepped outside and bright sunlight hurt her eyes, cutting through the crisp morning air. City life had gone on without her. Sounds of streetcars, newspaper hawkers, a busker with his ukulele, a radio blaring, screaming kids. Villanelle’s breath misted. She turned on Konstantin. A fire-breathing dragon. He deserved it. It had been days. It felt like forever. Konstantin sighed softly and headed down the courthouse steps, still slick with lingering slush.

“This is serious. You will go to prison.”

Villanelle pictured him falling.

“She likes me too much.”

He looked at her kindly. She hated that look. It reeked of pity.

“Not everyone is like Anna. This one. She is pressing charges.”

“She won’t.”

“She will. She has. And if not prison, then the asylum. Have you looked at yourself, Villanelle? You know what they do with people like you?”

Konstantin knew better than that. He must have been angry about the bail. Now Villanelle was angry too. She pulled him over to the side of the courthouse and slammed his back against the wall. He could have fought back, but he didn’t. They were family. This was the way that family talked.

“You do not talk to me about that place, okay?” Villanelle tapped her finger against his forehead. He shrugged a little. She tapped again, harder this time, punctuating every syllable. “I said, okay?” 

He raised his hands, as if in surrender. “Okay, okay.” Villanelle dropped her arm. He ruffled her hair. It felt nice but she shrugged it off anyway.

“But, Villanelle, you have to focus. Things are getting bad with the business. I need you to help me. I don’t need all this.” He gestured towards the courthouse. The police vans that were parked outside.

“You worry too much. Always business. Come. Buy me a treat. An I-Scream-Bar. I want to have fun.”

She tugged at the front of his coat.

“It is too cold for ice cream. Besides I have work. You too. We’re meeting at Katinka’s to talk about Raymond.”

“Ugh, Katinka’s. Russian food. Russian music. So boring.”

“You are Russian.”

“And you are old. Fine, I will get my own ice cream and meet you there later. And I will talk loudly of revolution!”

Konstantin laughed fondly. “Walk with me.”

They walked along the side of the courthouse toward the streetcar. Villanelle remembered when it derailed. People died. She wasn’t there but she’d read about it. She’d dreamed about it.

“We need these charges to go away.”

Konstantin was so boring.

The courthouse wall was covered with advertisements. One of them caught Villanelle’s eye. Paramount Movie Theater. Newly opened. Maybe she would take Maria. She ripped it down and folded it neatly, sliding it into her pocket. She would show Maria later that evening. They could go on a proper date.

“What about this one?”

Konstantin pulled down a different advertisement. Villanelle looked. A hand drawn symbol of an eye? Stupid lettering. “What is this shit?”

“Eve Polastri, Private Detective.” Konstantin scanned the sheet. “This could be just what we need. She can get your charges dismissed.”

Villanelle groaned loudly. If this poster was anything to go by, Eve Polastri couldn’t do shit.

\---

EVE POLASTRI ~ PRIVATE DETECTIVE

Eve looked at the lettering on the window of her storefront office. It had been Dom’s idea. His work too. White paint. Kleukens Kursiv font. Eve had been skeptical, but it looked okay. Etched glass would look even better, but that was expensive. One day perhaps.

She entered the office. Books on the floor, an empty bottle in the corner, papers stacked high on her desk. Just as she’d left it. A new pile too, of Dom’s drawings, with a scribbled note on top.

“6pm. Constantine?? Seduction – Crime?”

Sweet Dom. He had offered to be Eve’s unpaid assistant if she let him use her office sometimes. He said that he hated being at home. Eve could understand that. 

She looked at the note again. Seduction? She had heard of it of course. There was a big case in the newspaper last year, although the details were blurry now. A criminal charge, if she remembered correctly. This could be interesting. This could be the break she deserved.

She looked at her watch. 4:45pm. She pulled a library book from one of the shelves. A compendium of New York State criminal law. She found it easily.

SEDUCTION: THE USE OF CHARM, PROMISES, AND FLATTERY TO INDUCE ANOTHER PERSON TO HAVE SEXUAL INTERCOURSE OUTSIDE OF MARRIAGE, WITHOUT ANY USE OF FORCE OR INTIMIDATION

Charm? Flattery? Wow. This guy was going to be an asshole. Eve hated the smooth-talking shit already. But at least he wasn’t a broken housewife. And facing up to five years in prison? Kind of cool. Eve took out her camera and peered through the viewer, sweeping it slowly around the room. She let her mind wander, wondering who she might bring into focus, picturing who she might find.

\---

_Try this okay? Pull your bottom lip between your teeth. Flare your nostrils. Tilt your chin down and glance up from beneath your eyelids. Shy and predatory at the same time. Hmm that’s it. Now rub your thumb over her cheekbone. Tuck her hair behind her ear. Keep your fingers moving, Eve. Slide your hand to the back of her head. Tangle your fingers and tug just a little. Fuck, Eve. Yeah, like that. She’ll be naked before you know it. Once she’s naked, that’s when it gets tricky. It does, Eve. I’m serious. It’s not enough to make her come. You need to make sure she comes back for more. That’s the way to get to her money. That’s the reason we’re doing this, remember? Don’t get any other ideas._

\---

“Eve Polastri?”

The man who entered Eve’s office was not who she expected at all. He was older, for one. Sixties maybe? Heavier too. Plain wool coat and pants. Not much style, though Eve knew that she couldn’t judge. Gray hair. Full beard. Cuddly, maybe? Handsome possibly, back in his day? Sexy accent, she’d give him that. But master of the crime of seduction?

“Konstantin.” He reached out his hand. “I came by earlier. A pleasure to meet you.”

Eve shook his hand and then her head. “I’m sorry, I was expecting someone – ” Her voice trailed off.

“Younger?” The man laughed, stroking his beard. “Sexier?”

“Yes. No! No, I mean, not that you’re not – ”

“It is fine, Mrs Polastri. I understand. I promise that she won’t disappoint.”

“Eve,” she corrected. She couldn’t wait to drop Polastri. In a few months her divorce would be final and – Wait. What? “Did you say _she_?”

“Villanelle,” Konstantin yelled behind him. “Villanelle!”

Eve hadn’t expected this either.

Villanelle wasn’t a man. Not exactly. Maybe she wasn’t a woman either? Maybe she exceeded those boxes? Eve smiled. She knew herself well. Maybe she was fantasizing again?

It wasn’t as if Eve had a type. Not quite. But if she did? Villanelle stood before her, dapper in a pinstriped suit and button-down shirt with pressed white collar. Two-tone Oxfords, black and beige. Her face was injured. Busted chin, a fading bruise across her forehead. Rough and tender. Long hair slicked back, tied low, tucked beneath a newsboy hat. She looked like she had walked out a movie. She knew it too.

“Hi, Eve.” Her accent echoed Konstantin’s.

She was young. Too young. Twenties probably. Cocky as shit. She sauntered in like she owned the place, hands in pockets, lazy smile, as if she were god’s gift to women. Eve rolled her eyes.

She knew the type from nights at the Hangout. She liked to watch as they lit their cigarettes, slipped off jackets, rolled up the sleeves of their shirts, flaunting muscles, tapping laps for girlfriends to sit on. Sometimes Eve looked too long and Bill would nudge her, eyebrows waggling. Shit, Bill would tease her now.

Villanelle shook Eve’s hand, grasping firmly. She held it a little too long. She stared at Eve, up and down. Chewed her lip, just a fraction. Nodded, as if in appraisal. What a dick.

“Konstantin says that you can help me. That you have some skills I can use? I look forward to seeing this, Eve. Working together.” She made it sound like a proposition, voice curling, beckoning Eve. Long fingers brushed Eve’s shoulder. “You had some fluff.” Jesus Christ, she laid it on thick.

At least the seduction charges made sense. Some poor woman would fall for this bullshit. Except. “I thought only men could be charged with seduction.”

Villanelle gestured to a chair. “May I?” Eve nodded. Villanelle settled in, leaning back, legs wide. She rested one foot up on the desk. Eve snorted. 

“These things are not black and white, Eve.”

No shit. Eve searched for a clever retort, but Konstantin interrupted. 

“$1,500. Half now. Half later, when the charges are dropped.”

$1,500? That was more than six months wages. Konstantin stacked the cash on the desk, next to Eve’s camera. “I have to go away for a few days. You can update me when I am back.”

“Wait!” Eve scrambled. “I don’t understand. Why me? Why her? What do you want me to do exactly?”

Konstantin sounded impatient. “Take care of it, Eve. Quickly. Discretely. I cannot hire a legitimate agency.” Eve started to protest, but he kept on talking. Great. They both were assholes. “I don’t care how you do it. Just make these charges go away.”

He turned to Villanelle. “I’ll see you at Rosa’s next weekend. Play nice, okay?”

Villanelle stood. “I always play nice.” She hugged him tightly and glanced at Eve. “I’ll play especially nice with this one.” Konstantin patted her cheek. Affectionate, with a hint of violence.

He opened the door, then turned to Eve. “Nice poster, by the way. Cute drawings. I’ll be in touch.”

\---

_Here’s the problem, Eve. First times are tricky. Most of the time, we don’t know they’re happening, not in the moment. It’s only later, when we look back, that we take in the weight of that turn. The first time I met her. The first time we spoke. The first time I felt it, in my stomach, before I even knew what it was. It won’t be like that, Eve. Not for you. You will know it from the start. Why you are there. Where you are heading. What happens next. How it will end. Your first time. With her. For you. Your eyes will be open. You will feel nervous. That’s okay. I didn’t know it at the time, but I felt nervous too._

\---

“Are you okay?”

Villanelle watched Eve closely. When Konstantin left, he had left the door open. No manners. A cold gust of wind blew in. Eve didn’t close it. She just stood there, hand on the doorframe, staring out into the street. Brow furrowed, lost in thought.

“What? Oh.” Eve turned suddenly. “Sorry. It’s just – you – this – It isn’t what I expected.” She shut the door and moved to her desk.

“Me neither,” Villanelle nodded, as Eve sat in the chair opposite. “I’m far too beautiful for this shit. But it is okay. She will drop the charges.”

“What?”

“I am very attractive, Eve. You can see that. I am very good at sex too. Maria wants me back. We just need to wait.”

“Wait. Who’s Maria?”

Villanelle sighed. This could be tedious.

“Eve! You are behind the times. Maria is our problem here. She’s the woman I seduced. Or she seduced me. Who can say? She likes me, Eve. That’s what matters. She really likes me. She’ll drop the charges. They always do.”

“You’ve been charged with seduction before?”

Villanelle looked at Eve again. She didn’t look stupid. Quite the opposite. Smart. Intense. Curious. Focused. Right now, she scrunched up her forehead in concentration. Staring, but not the typical staring. Not like Amber. Not like Maria. Like she was trying to peer inside. Villanelle tried to be patient.

“Usually I don’t get caught. But husbands get jealous. Sometimes they’re sneaky. They figure it out. This time I let down my guard. It was my birthday.”

“What? Why – ”

Patience didn’t come easy.

“Eve. Don’t interrupt. My birthday. It was on Friday. Maria invited me to her house. It is a very nice house. She has excellent taste.” Villanelle tilted her head and preened a little. _See, Eve. Excellent taste_. Eve didn’t seem to notice, just gestured for Villanelle to continue. “Her husband was away on business and she said she had a gift to give me. She said it was special. I was special.”

“Hold on. You went to her house?” Eve grabbed a notepad and pen.

“Upper east side. Very expensive neighborhood. Very expensive gift too. Top quality Indian rubber. Imported from Britain. A harness too. Much better than what I’m used to. You know the ones they sell by the pier? No? Maybe I’ll show you sometime. Maria got me a dildo that was so much better. It melded to me. It moved with my every move. She got me a cake too. Pineapple Upside Down Cake. Extra cherries. After the cake, I couldn’t leave. That would be rude. So there we were, trying out my birthday present on the rug by the fire, when in they came, crashing our party. Beau James and his little police.“

Eve dropped her pen. Or did she throw it? Clumsy, Eve.

“Beau James? _The_ Beau James? Jimmy “Beau James” Walker, Beau James? Mayor of New York City Beau James?”

“Uh, yeah? It’s his house too. Stupid nickname, no?”

“You were fucking the mayor’s wife in his own house when the police came in?”

Villanelle nodded. “I know. Can you believe it? I didn’t even get to finish.” Clearly, Eve would grasp the audacity.

Eve rummaged through her desk and pulled out a bottle of rum. No glass. She drank quickly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Eve. I don’t think that’s legal. Prohibition?” 

Eve stood. Eyes blazing. “You want to talk to me about legal? You seduced and fucked the fucking mayor’s wife! I need this case. I need this money. I need to prove that you didn’t seduce her. But you and your birthday dick fucked it all up!”

Wow, Eve got angry quickly. Her face hardened. Her voice dropped. Maybe she spat a little? Villanelle thought about her saliva. Eve didn’t make any sense, but Villanelle didn’t mind. She could watch this all day.

Eve rounded her desk and started pacing the room. Villanelle turned in the chair to face her.

“But, Eve! Eve? Have you even seen her? Her clothes? Her jewelry? You should see the furniture in her house. The china ornaments over the fireplace? They’re worth a fortune.”

“Jesus Christ, you’re after her money?”

“No, Eve. I’m after a fairytale romantic ending with the wife of the mayor of New York City. Of course I’m after her money! What do you think this is?”

“I think that you’re going to prison.”

Villanelle laughed. Eve was funny. And wasn’t she listening? There was no way she would go to prison. Maria would drop the charges. Eve would get paid. Win win.

Eve swigged from the bottle again. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. A little gulp. Some kind of sigh. 

“Relax, Eve. And pass me that. Be a good host.”

Eve relented. Villanelle wiped the mouth of the bottle, thinking again of Eve’s saliva, Eve’s lips. She drank and grimaced.

“Eve! What is this cheap shit? Remind me to bring you something better. I have connections in the industry. Now, where were we?”

“I’m thinking, okay? And give me that.”

Eve snatched back the bottle. There was a manic beauty to her anger. Hard but messy. Borderline violent. Villanelle didn’t want it to stop. 

“Ask me more questions, Eve. Save me from prison. What else do you want to know? Should I tell you how I seduced her?”

“God no! I don’t want to know. But tell me this. Did you ever promise to marry her?”

“Marry? No!”

“Did you promise her anything?”

“Only the the best sex of her life. And I delivered.”

Eve scoffed, unimpressed.

“Did you charm her into bed?”

“Uh, technically, we were on the rug, but yes, of course I did. I showered her with compliments, Eve. Good ones, too. Very subtle. I told you already. I’m very good. That’s how it works. How do you get people to have sex with you? Maybe I could give you some tips?”

Eve flared. So prickly. So perfect.

“Jesus Christ. How old are you, even?”

“Twenty-six. A century baby. It was my birthday. I already told you.” Villanelle paused. She couldn’t resist. ”It’s not too late to get me a present.” Too much?

Eve roared. Literally roared.

“Okay kid, listen to me. No present. No advice. I just need you to answer my questions, straight up, so I can get paid.”

Villanelle smirked. Angry? Bossy? Almost worth the criminal charges.

“Okay, Eve.” The name felt good in her mouth. Lip between teeth to sound out the V. Evvvve. E-e-e-v-v-v-e.

“Is there any evidence? Of how you talked her into sex?”

“Besides the bite marks on her thighs?”

Villanelle laughed as Eve slammed down her notepad. Threw up her hands. Eve was too easy. “Are you always such a dick?”

“Dick? Wow. Heartless, Eve.” _Eve, Eve. “_ You know the police ripped off my dick when they arrested me. They left it on Maria’s floor. Hey, is that evidence?”

“I’m trying to prove that you _didn’t_ seduce her.”

“But I did.”

“Can you shut up? Just for one minute? Fucking shut up.”

Wow. Villanelle didn’t expect that. It hurt, maybe. Maybe not. It hit, somewhere. It did something, something different, some sort of feeling? Curious. She would find out. She wanted to speak, but Eve had said not to. _Okay, Eve. Silence. For you_. Villanelle squirmed on her chair. Made a show of appearing obedient. Eve took it in stride.

“Thank you. This is important. What you call seduction and the law calls seduction might be different.”

Ugh this was boring.

“According to state law, not all women can be victims of seduction. Only women who are upright citizens of good moral character. Pure. Chaste. Maria is already married. That’s one strike against her. I need more. I need evidence about her character. If I can prove that she’s an ‘immoral woman,’ there’s no crime. No charges. We win.”

Okay. Not so boring. Villanelle ran through the implications.

“You want to taint another woman’s character? Eve, that’s wrong. What about sisterhood? What about ethics?” _Wait for it. Wait for it. Watch her squirm._ “Ha. I’m kidding. I really like it. So, what’s next? What do we do?”

“You don’t do anything.” _Eve. You crush me._ “I’m going to meet her. Get to know her. Dig around.”

“She’s the mayor’s wife! You can’t just meet her.”

“You did it. So can I. In the meantime, tell me what we know already. What are her interests?”

Villanelle grinned widely. The things she knew about Maria’s interests. Eve cut her off.

“Besides sex with you, Casanova.”

Casanova? Was that a nickname? Was that a put-down? Eve was teasing. This was new. A fine development. A fine line between insults and teasing, teasing and flirting, flirting and touching, touching and taking Eve over her desk.

Eve continued. “Anything risqué I could use against her? Does she drink? Go out dancing? Read dime novels?”

“Read the _National Police Gazette?”_

Villanelle picked up the magazine from Eve’s desk and flicked through its pages. Murder and sex. Various ways to tear through a body. Admittedly, Eve was a detective. Maybe she just read the crime reports. Villanelle glanced up. Eve was blushing. Maybe not.

Villanelle stopped at a story about corporal punishment at a girls’ boarding school. The picture showed a young woman baring her ass.

_Oh, Eve._

“This is a good one. Have you read it?”

Eve held Villanelle’s gaze. Strong. Steady. Mortified, but not backing down. Impressive, really.

“Not yet. You?”

“Hmm yes. A couple of times. The ending is very explosive.”

“I’m sure I’ll enjoy it.”

“I’m sure you will. Look, I’ll save the page for you.” Villanelle folded over the corner and passed Eve the magazine. “Maybe we can discuss it next time?”

Eve took back the magazine. For a moment, their hands were close. If Villanelle stretched her fingers –

Eve pulled away. She moved to the door. “Next time. Sure. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got other cases to work on.”

Eve wanted Villanelle to leave? No, no. She wasn’t ready.

“What about me? What can I do? I would love to help you.” She quirked her eyebrows, eager to irritate Eve one more time. She dragged her eyes over Eve’s body. A very nice body. “I could help you with so many things.”

Eve rolled her eyes. Wait. Was that a smile?

“Uh, don’t seduce any more married women for a while?”

Villanelle glanced at Eve’s hand on the door handle. It was subtle, but unmistakable. The stripe of skin, slightly lighter, marking the spot where a ring used to be. Divorced? Widowed? Villanelle moved to leave, lightly brushing against Eve’s arm. Could Eve feel it through that sweater? She caught Eve’s eye as she stepped outside. There! That look. Eve felt it. She _felt_ it.

“No married women? I can’t make any promises, Eve. But, for you, I will try.”

\---

_I see it, Eve. The way you look at me. You see the way I look at you too. I see your potential. I see what you have. Your office is shit but your camera is expensive. You wore a wedding ring on your finger but you took it off recently. Was there a diamond? Was it gold? Is it safely locked away or did you sell it? Where do you keep the cash? Your book collection is impressive. They are not all from the library. Some of them are first edition. Some of them are leather bound. You’re hustling to make it on your own but you have inherited wealth. I can smell it. Rich parents? Dead spouse? It doesn’t matter. I will show you how to get your evidence. You will be an excellent student. You will win and get your money. I will be an excellent teacher. And I will get your money too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Usually I will update every Wednesday, but I’ve got other obligations for the next couple of weeks, so there might be a delay. The whole fic is drafted though, so I will post soon, I promise! 
> 
> In the meantime, please let me know what you think. AUs are new territory for me, so encouragement is really welcomed. Thanks!


	3. The Other Other Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve visits Maria

_\---_

_What’s that, Eve? You haven’t had sex with a woman before? Don’t worry. Me neither. Ha, I’m kidding! I’m just trying to lighten the mood. I know this is awkward. But we agreed. Sexy talk won’t count as evidence. I need to show you what to do. I know her, Eve. I know her body. I know her needs. We can take it slowly, okay? First, I’ll show you how to undress her. Close your eyes. That’s what you tell her. “Close your eyes. I will take care of you.” Why don’t you close yours also? There. That’s good. Eve, I’m going to undress you now. I am going to take care of you too._

\---

“Bang! You’re dead!”

The third floor of Saks was crowded with weekend afternoon shoppers. Wealthy women roamed the displays, holding up dresses, slipping on shoes, weaving around newly posed mannequins. Heels clicked over linoleum. Fingers snapped for harried assistants to carry garments into dressing rooms. Husbands grumbled. Snotty children played underfoot. Villanelle found her target. Raised her arm. Aimed. Fired. A finger gun at a petulant child. Three mock shots. Fake recoil. The child ran crying to her mother. Late thirties? Wavy hair. Villanelle eyed the woman. Weighed her options. Blew smoke from her make-believe gun. Fun, but not fun enough. Villanelle had to get back to business. Back to the business of being with Eve.

She needed to buy her a dress. It should have been simple. She knew Eve’s size from a handful of glances. She knew the style from Maria’s tastes. But the thought of Eve wearing the clothing slowed her down, lingering longer than she intended. Her fingers traced the knits and silks. Eve’s body under this fabric? The sway of her hips beneath the dropped waist? She touched the collar that would greet Eve’s hair if she let it fall loosely. She felt the hem that would brush her knees. Eve’s knees? She thought of her knees? Oh Eve. What have you done?

Villanelle didn’t do this. She didn’t fixate on women when they weren’t there. She loved to get lost in the lust of the moment, the heat and the movement. She liked to focus on who she was with, at least until her interest waned. But once she left, she left them behind. She didn’t recall them, without good reason. She didn’t miss them or want their return. But Eve had gotten under her skin. One conversation! This morning’s phone call had lodged her in deeper. ~~~~

It had only been four days since they had first met to discuss Villanelle’s case, but Eve had already developed a plan. Tonight, Eve was going to to visit Maria and she had asked Villanelle to help her prepare. Preparation meant a new dress. Finally, Villanelle made her decision. A Jean Patao sports dress, beige and grey, with pleated straight skirt and matching cardigan. All the rage. At the checkout, Villanelle pulled out her wallet. The young cashier, Nadia, looked confused. “You don’t want to do the usual?” Villanelle shook her head. She had known Nadia for a couple of years. They had an arrangement. Nadia helped her to “borrow” clothes and return them later, a temporary theft with minimal risk. Villanelle helped Nadia in other ways. Not today.

“I want to pay.”

Villanelle had made plans too. She wanted Eve to keep the dress. To wear it late on a different evening, home alone, a little drunk. Maybe she would look in the mirror, run her hands over her body, see herself as Villanelle saw her, touch herself as Villanelle might? That would be good, Villanelle thought, if she could get under Eve’s skin too. Just to distract her. Mess up her head. Lovestruck women were easy to swindle.

She handed a five dollar bill to Nadia.

“Sure Villanelle. If that’s what you want.”

\---

When Villanelle walked into Eve’s office a few hours later, Eve was hunched over her desk, sorting through the contents of her purse, dumped out over the table. God, she was messy.

“Eve! What are you wearing?”

Eve turned, her pullover navy blue frock hanging loosely below her knee. A comfortable, practical housedress. The sensible choice of a working woman.

“I’m wearing what I always wear.” She said it as if it wasn’t a problem.

“First impressions matter, Eve. Here, take this.”

Villanelle passed her a bag. Eve eyed it suspiciously. “What is it?”

“Lingerie.”

She was too funny. Eve was too easy. Look at those eyes! Shooting daggers. Spitting fire. The way Eve looked as if she might kill. Villanelle would die a thousand times over.

“I’m joking, Eve. It’s just a dress. Maria will like it. She loves this designer. And you need to make sure she invites you in.”

Eve looked at the bag, ignoring its contents.

“Saks 5th Avenue. You bought this?”

“I have connections. I can take it back later.”

Eve shrugged and handed it back. “I don’t need it. I have a plan.”

Oh, come on. Where was the “thank you”? Where was the coy and grateful blush? How rude. How refreshing. Villanelle was ready to play.

“Okay, Eve. What’s your plan?”

Eve gestured to the mess on her desk. “Recognize this?”

Villanelle looked over the contents. An earring. Lipstick. Couple of dollars. A Kotex box. Nope. No clue.

“It’s the contents of Maria’s purse. I have it and I’m going to return it.”

Villanelle’s eyes widened. Maria’s purse? Did Eve steal it? _Oh, my heart_. “How did you get it?”

“Maria attended a fundraiser at the Commodore Hotel last night. I have a friend who works the cloakroom.” Eve shrugged, as if the details didn’t matter. Villanelle waited. “At the end of the night, her purse went missing. Suspected theft. She wasn’t happy. Luckily, Josephine Fox, the head receptionist” – Eve pointed to herself proudly – “found the purse and will return it tonight. I phoned Maria already. She expects me – Josephine – at 7pm.”

“You spoke to Maria?”

“You’re not the only one with connections.”

Villanelle eyed Eve with new interest. She had layers, this one, secrets even, hidden inside like nested dolls. Who knew how deep they might go? “Okay, Eve. I like this plan. And Josephine Fox? The name suits you. Smart. Sexy. Straight from a stag film. And all the more reason to wear this dress.” Villanelle looked Eve up and down, feigning a shudder. “Josephine would never dress like that.”

Eve rolled her eyes. Maybe smiled.

“If I wear it, will you help me? I need information about her house.”

“Put on the dress and I’ll tell you everything.”

Eve grabbed the bag and headed out the backdoor to the building’s shared bathroom. Villanelle called after her.

“Change in here. I want to watch.”

She didn’t, really. Well, maybe a little. She would enjoy watching Eve squirm. But mostly Villanelle wanted time alone in Eve’s office. She rummaged through the desk drawers. Quality camera. Top of the range fountain pens. Decent stationary, if a bit old. No cash box though. Villanelle scoured the room. A coat crumpled in the corner. Disposable tissues. Was that a pair of stockings? Jesus, Eve. She couldn’t see a hidden safe. She started pulling books from the shelves, stacking them randomly. Clearly, Eve had no system. Eve was a whirlwind. Villanelle could be a whirlwind too.

She didn’t hear Eve’s return. Stealthy? Noted. The new dress fit her perfectly. “Eve, you look – ” Villanelle searched for the right word. Beautiful? Sexy? Eve didn’t seem to like compliments. They made her sneer. Maybe growl. Tempting, but already predictable. Villanelle chose a different tact. She wanted to draw Eve closer, build up her confidence, reach her in a way that felt good. To distract her from Villanelle’s search of the office. Nothing else. “You look as if you are good at disguises.”

Eve looked at her curiously. “Uh, okay, weirdo. Hey, can you help me with something? I have a box on that top shelf. You’re taller than me.”

Villanelle was. She reached it easily.

“Thanks. It’s my stash of jewels.” Eve laughed as she took out a ring. “I don’t know where else to keep it.” She handed the box back to Villanelle. She seemed self-conscious. “Would you mind?” Villanelle weighed the box as she returned it. Heavy. Jackpot.

She felt empty.

“A wedding ring? Is that part of your plan too?”

What was it exactly? The thing that Villanelle felt leave her body. Water swirling down the drain. Interest? Connection? She couldn’t keep it, if she wanted. Why would she want to?

Eve smirked. “Married women stick together.”

There was a joke in there somewhere about women and sticking, but Villanelle was too unsettled. Eve was stupid. Naive and trusting like all the rest. Villanelle had thought that she might be different. Oh well. At least she was easy. Villanelle shook off the feeling, whatever it was. She got back on track.

“Okay, Mrs. Josephine Fox. The dress in exchange for information. What do you want to know?”

They sat on either side of the desk as Eve asked questions about Maria’s house. Liquor cabinet? Phonograph? Books? Blah blah. Villanelle leaned back, fingers tracing the weave of her trousers. “Don’t you want to know about sex?”

“Actually yes. What do you know about her husband?”

“I meant with me! Okay, fine. Not much. He’s never home. Always partying, rarely working. He’s got women all over town. He’s seeing a movie star. I forget her name.”

Eve snorted. “He dates starlets. She dates you?”

Nobody did this. Nobody put Villanelle down. It stung, maybe. Just a little. It roused her too. Perhaps she was getting her period. Sometimes that made her feel a bit weird.

“Hey, I’m a very good catch. I can do things with my tongue that a stupid actress never – ”

“Where’s her bedroom?”

“Eve! I should have guessed you would have a sexy plan.”

“I need evidence. Booze and music will be downstairs. But dirty magazines and toys?”

Okay. Eve might be an easy mark but this, at least, was something different. A brazenness that matched Villanelle’s own?

“She has a Polar Cub in the drawer of her bedside table.” Villanelle upped the ante. “It’s a vibrator.”

“I know what it is.”

“Really? You have one too?”

Eve paused. Was she deciding whether to answer? “Yes. You?”

“No, Eve. That’s not how I like it.” Villanelle thought of how she liked it, how she would like it better with Eve. She pictured Eve, pushy and greedy, chasing that feeling. She dared Eve to picture it too. “But I do like a woman who knows what she wants.”

Eve stared. A scientist’s gaze that dissected specimens. Rude. Invasive. Deep in thought. Silent, but for fingers drumming on the table. _Think of me, Eve, think of me_.

“Well then. Lucky Maria.”

Villanelle laughed, short and harsh. Maria, yes. That’s why they were here.

“The bedroom is upstairs. Second door on the left. But can I give you advice, Eve? You are a bit rude. I like it. She will not.”

“Fuck you, Villanelle.”

Case in point. Eve didn’t even look sheepish. Unaware, or she just didn’t care. Villanelle continued, regardless.

“She likes compliments. Just say something nice about her shoes. Her hair is shitty but don’t tell her that. Tell her about her eyes.”

“I’m going there to get information. Not to get laid.”

“How are they different? Knowledge is power. Power is sex.”

Eve looked at her again. She really had to stop staring like this. It did things to Villanelle she couldn’t name.

“You are so young.”

“You are so old. You wear it well. It’s very attractive. But listen, Eve. If you get stuck, try this. Pull your bottom lip between your teeth. Tilt your chin down and glance up from beneath your eyelids. Like this, see? She loves that look. She cannot resist it. She’ll be putty in your hands. Warm and pliant and sticky and – ”

“You’re gross, you know that? It’s amazing that you ever get laid. Can we get back to my questions now? Tell me the layout of the house.”

\---

_Look for it, Eve. Some kind of barrier. Kitchen counter, front door. The hallway wall beneath the staircase. Crowd her against it, arm extended, hand flat against a surface, near her head, near her ear. Trap her, Eve. She likes to feel like she’s losing control. Rest your finger over her breastbone. Drag it down over her sternum, over her stomach, crossing her navel, lower, lower. Slip to one side. Feel for the line of her underwear waistband. Hook a finger. Drop your voice. “Tell me no.” Quiet. Low. Wait for the whimper, the barely there twitch of her hips. Here, I’ll show you. First my finger. Then my whisper. My breath heavy against your ear. Shit, Eve – I don’t want to stop this – it’s hard – I can’t – I don’t want to – fuck. “I want to fuck you, Eve. I do. I mean it. Don’t make me stop.” Hook. Pause. “Let me, okay? Tell me no.” See? That moan? You couldn’t help it. Nobody ever says ‘no.’_

_\---_

“What? Oh. No. No thank you.”

Eve didn’t want to admit it, but Villanelle had an eye for detail. Maria’s house matched her description word for word. Eve sat on a green velvet Chesterfield sofa in the living room. Palladian floor lamps brightened the room. A large walnut cabinet claimed the far corner, housing the latest radio-phonograph combination, the Bergia-II, new with electrical amplification. A liquor cabinet stood nearby, no regard for prohibition. A half-wall connected to the kitchen. The hallway stairs were off to the right. Maria offered Eve cream for her tea. Eve shook her head, trying to focus. She couldn’t keep her eyes off the rug. Maria was talking of hotels and music and her favorite ballroom and all Eve could think of was Villanelle. In this house. With this woman. By this fireplace. On this rug.

It had been easy to get inside of Maria’s house. She had been grateful to Eve for returning her purse and was happy to let her use the telephone. Eve had said that she had lost her house keys and needed to call her workplace, the Commodore Hotel. “Hi Johnny,” she had said into a silent receiver, lies flowing like speakeasy liquor. “It’s Josephine. Did I leave my keys at the desk?” In some other life, she could have been an actor. Eve had noticed a book on Maria’s shelf. _Mrs Dalloway_ , by Virginia Woolf. Her favorite author, Villanelle had said. Eve had asked Maria if she liked it. Asked her not to spoil the ending. Maria had got them some tea and cake. She had asked Eve if she wanted sugar. Eve focused. She could do this. She joked about needing something stronger. Maria poured them a dash of whiskey. She was too easy. Eve was too good.

There were ornaments on the mantle, just as Villanelle had told her. Eve wondered if she looked at them when – No. Stop it. She didn’t know how to assess their value but she knew they were worth a fortune. The whole place reeked of money. It coated the wallpaper. Seeped into floorboards. The art on the walls. Designer furniture. More phonograph records than she could count. Even the smell. Flowers and freshness. Eve wondered if the smell of – Fuck. Stop. Pay attention. Maria liked music. That’s what she was saying. She liked to dance. Eve pictured her dancing here, beckoning Villanelle from the couch, who put down her whiskey and bit her lip and slid behind her, pulling her close, chest flush against her back, dancing slow and grinding hard and – Focus, Eve. Fuck.

Eve wasn’t surprised by how much she had thought of Villanelle since their first meeting. She wasn’t concerned. It had its uses. Home alone, hands down her underwear, she had come hard to the thought of her watching. How many times? It had been four days. She kept rereading the _Police Gazette_ story that Villanelle had marked. Corporal punishment. Spanking. Sex. Eve thought of them fucking. She thought of them fighting. Her new favorite fantasy. She just need to keep it in place. Not here. Not at Maria’s.

Maria cleared the plates and dropped a spoon. She bent down to pick it up. Eve thought of her bending and Villanelle kneeling. Villanelle’s knees? She thought of her knees? Jesus Christ.

“Can I use your bathroom?”

Upstairs, Eve ignored the directions that Maria had given. She headed for the second door on the left. The master bedroom was stylish and spacious. Walk-in closet, dressing table, bedside cabinets, marital bed. Eve caught her reflection in the full-length mirror. Had Villanelle stood here too, watching herself, watching Maria? Shit. Eve cleared her head. She took her camera out of her purse. Maria’s vibrator was where she expected it. She photographed it on the bed, staging it with a monogrammed pillow to mark the location. Good, but she needed more. A lawyer could claim the vibrator was innocent, a medical device that a doctor prescribed. Most people would see through that cover, masturbation an open secret, but judges were tricky. Eve wanted to find something else, indisputable. She looked in drawers, under the bed, the back of the closet. She found a box, stuffed full of letters. If they were from another lover -

_Maria – I miss you. I wish that I was with you tonight. I couldn’t sleep so I climbed up onto the roof of my building and I looked at the stars. I’m certain that you were looking at them too. I feel this pull towards you, deep in my center. Do you believe in destiny? Sometimes I think that in previous lifetimes, we were together. I know that if I traveled the world, scoured the galaxies, I would never find a love like ours. With all my heart, Villanelle_

Oh you stupid piece of shit.

_Darling Maria – You said that I would need to wait patiently. I will wait until Sunday, as you asked, but I cannot promise to be patient. You ask too much. I’m counting the days and nights on my fingers. I cannot even look at my fingers without thinking of you. What you have done to me? I am broken. I want you to break me again. Sunday feels like a lifetime away. I want your closeness. I want your company. I want to wrap you in my arms, kiss your neck, and sleep beside you. I didn’t know how lonely I was until I met you and you made me understand the impossible. You made me feel like I had come home._

Home? Christ. Did anyone actually fall for this bullshit? Eve shoved the letters back in the box and grabbed some more. She heard footsteps on the stairs. She almost made it to the door, cramming paper into her pocket, when Maria appeared. She glared at Eve in indignation.

“What are you doing?”

Eve tried to look innocent. “I got lost?” She didn’t mean it to sound like a question.

“You’re in my bedroom.”

Okay. Deep breath. Eve could think quickly on her feet.

“Look. I wanted to see it, okay? Your house is amazing. You have incredible taste. The living room is fantastic. And – ” Eve glanced away, then looked back shyly. Was she really going to do this? “I wanted to see how a woman like you styled her bedroom. I know, I know, I should have asked. I should have said Mrs Walker – or is okay to call you Maria? I should have said, Maria, would you let me see your room? Will you show me your bedroom? Please?”

Maria stared at Eve as if she was crazy. “You want me to show you my bedroom?”

Eve bit her lip. Willed a blush. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I know that we’ve only just met. But your house is beautiful.” Fuck, here goes. If this didn’t work she would kill Villanelle. Eve looked down, then glanced up slowly, biting her lip. “You are beautiful too.”

She held her breath. Maria stared, then turned abruptly.

“You should leave. I have visitors arriving soon. Women from the philanthropy committee. You cannot be here.”

Eve followed Maria down the stairs, clutching her bag with the camera inside. She stepped outside. “Thanks for the tea and cake. I’m sorry about your room.”

Maria reached for Eve’s upper arm.

“Josephine? You have my number. Call me later. Please.”

\---

_Are you ready for this, Eve? Ready to kiss her? Sit with me then. On the couch. Move a bit closer. That’s good. She likes it gentle. It’s very boring. The teasing is fun though. Here. I’ll show you. You have to let her know it’s coming. Look at her lips. Now her eyes. Lips again. Lean in as if you mean to kiss her. Slowly slowly. Smell her, Eve. Notice her perfume. This close. Now, make her wait. Watch carefully. Wait until she leans into you. Mmm, yeah, just like that. You kissed me, Eve. Your first time. I’m honored, truly. Hey, come back, don’t be awkward. Kiss me again. I mean her. Kiss her slowly. Moan softly into her mouth. Mmm. Again. Mmm. Eve. I want you to use your tongue, okay? I do. I want it. I want you, Eve. I’m not faking. I don’t want to let you go._

\---

The Second Avenue El Train was empty. Eve stretched out across two seats, feet up, head back against the window. The jolt of the train rattled her jaw. Eve had promised Villanelle she would meet her later, but she couldn’t do it. Not now. She really might kill her, the little shit. Writing those letters. Not telling Eve. She must have known that Maria would keep them. Eve reread the ones she’d stuffed in her pockets. Christ, they were filthy. What was the phrase from “The Landlord’s Game” that Dom liked to play at family gatherings? Straight to jail? Do not pass go? Villanelle was headed to prison. Eve reread the letters again.

She got off the El at St Marks Place and walked over to Eve’s Hangout on MacDougal Street. It was busy as always, packed with Bohemians and artists, women mostly. The sign on the door made it clear: “Men are admitted but not welcomed.” Bill was one of the few exceptions. He was friends with the owner, Eve Kotchever. He brought her imported magazines and they talked for hours of free love and anarchy, the role of art in revolution. She told him stories of Warsaw and Paris. They fantasized about Berlin. He would be here tonight, to show his support for the “literary arts.” Sunday was women’s poetry night. Women? Sure. Poetry? Ugh. Eve was not a fan.

“Eve! I didn’t expect to see you here.” She entered the basement club and saw Bill sitting at the bar, book in hand, the new one by Hemingway. He sipped his cocktail, thick with syrup to mask the bootleg whiskey burn.

“I need a drink.” Eve fished in her pocket for a couple of quarters. “Do me a favor and get me the usual? I’m not ready to deal with Gemma.” She glanced at the woman down the bar, busy serving another customer.

Bill sighed in disapproval. Well deserved, but Eve brushed it aside. “Oh come on, Bill. Help me out. A gin rickey. Keep the change? Please?”

“Fine. But you need to talk with her.”

“I will, I will. Just – after my drink.”

Eve grabbed a table while she waited. She looked around. The usual crowd. A few women hung out by the bar, acting cool, checking out women. Others sat at tables in groups. A handful of couples fooled around. Bessie Smith played on the brand new jukebox. Lost Your Head Blues. The dance floor was empty, but it was still early. The first time Eve had kissed a woman, it had been here, on that dance floor, the week before Niko left. She smiled at the memory. A year ago now. Since then, she had become a regular. She knew the staff and most of the customers. She noticed when a stranger came in. The bar owners bribed the police, so they didn’t have to be too vigilant. Still, Eve liked to pay attention. She liked to watch. A professional skill and a private pleasure. She noticed the owner, Eve Kotchever, deep in conversation with a new woman.

“Who’s that?” Eve asked, when Bill joined her, drinks in hand.

“I don’t know, but Ruth’s away, so Eve will play. Our queen of the third sex is very popular these days.”

Eve snorted. “Does she still call herself that? Oh my god, look. She’s showing that woman her writing. Smooth move. _Hey baby, check out my book, it’s all about lesbians_. Oh, that reminds me.” Eve pulled Villanelle’s letters from her pocket. “Have I got some writing to show you.”

_\---_

It didn’t take long for Eve to update Bill on her latest case. She skipped the part about Maria’s bedroom. She ignored his smirk as she described Villanelle.

“So? What do you think?”

Bill read aloud from the letters.

_My love, you have ruined me. I cannot contain this. I see your husband in the newspaper and I want to spit in his stupid face. He disrespects you with those women. Why? Why??! When he has you, a goddess at home. My knees ache in your worship. I still taste the honey of you, warm and sticky over my tongue, your sweetness dribbling down my chin –_

“Jesus, Eve.”

“Hey, I thought you liked poetry. The next one is even better.” Bill raised an eyebrow. “Worse I mean. Even worse.”

_I found the brooch you left in my pocket. I touch it and it makes me sweat. I’m sweating Maria, thinking about you wet and sweating. I cannot wait. I am the wolf to your womanhood. Hungry. Untamed. Let me devour you. You reduce me to these urgent filthy desperate longings. Come here Maria. Come here. Come._

“My god, she’s dirty.” Bill didn’t try to hide his delight. “And she calls herself wolf?”

“Right? Who names themselves after an animal?”

Bill laughed. “I don’t think she means animal. It’s code among the fellas, you know? The men who cruise for sex in the park?”

“Oh shut up.” Eve squirmed. “That’s not how she means it.”

“Rough, aggressive, predatory? Ready to devour fresh young blood? I’m just saying – ” Bill was enjoying this far too much.

“Okay. Whatever. Villanelle. Wolf. She’s in deep shit. These letters prove that she did it. Five years in prison. She’s fucked, Bill. Me too. I can’t win a case against this.”

“Someone was fucked, that’s for sure.” Bill wasn’t going to let this drop. “Maybe someone else wants to be too?”

“Ew, god no. I mean, don’t get me wrong. She’s hot as shit. But so annoying. The bullshit she says. I’d have to gag her.” Bill raised his glass to toast the idea. “Oh piss off. You know what I mean. She’s a scam artist. She screwed the mayor’s wife to get at his money. She’s eyeing up my shit too. I saw her. I went to put on the dress she bought me and when I came back, she was putting a price tag on my library, my camera. She thinks I’m rich. Not many women have their own business, so – ”

Bill interrupted. “She bought you a dress?”

“What? Oh yeah.” Eve slipped off the coat she was still wearing and stood to pose. “Chic, huh? Not that I told her.”

“Did she get you anything else?”

“She mentioned lingerie.” Eve laughed as Bill spluttered on his drink. “What I really need is a new pair of shoes. Buy me those and she can fuck me all night.”

“She fancies you then?”

Good question. Did she? Not really. Did Villanelle even know what that meant? Eve sighed.

“She fancies everyone. I’m not special. At least I won’t be, when she finds out I’m broke.” Eve downed her drink and then remembered. “I showed her where I kept my ring, just to string her along a little. Build up her hopes to watch them fall. Poor baby.”

“Eve, it sounds like you’re flirting.”

“Me? No! Okay. Maybe. Ugh I’m just having fun. It won’t go anywhere. She’s a client. A scamming, sleazy, insufferable, immature, fucking gorgeous client.”

Bill glanced over Eve’s shoulder. “Speaking of gorgeous.”

“Hi Eve.”

Gemma approached their table, smiling nervously. “I um, brought you this.” She put a glass down in front of Eve, grabbing a coaster from a nearby table. “On the house. Well, just me, actually.” Her hand hung awkwardly in the space between them. Eve wanted to flick it away. “Wow, Eve, that’s a lovely dress.”

“Thanks,” Eve mumbled. Gemma hovered, waiting for more. It didn’t come.

“Well, I’ll let you two get on with it then,” she said, nodding at Bill, who smiled encouragingly. “It’s good to see you, Eve.” She lent forward and hurriedly kissed Eve on the cheek – a little peck – before blushing and turning away.

“Fuck,” Eve groaned, when Gemma was at a safe distance.

“She likes you,” Bill teased.

“I know. It’s just – she’s not – look, I made a mistake, okay. I shouldn’t have done it.”

It had been two weeks since Eve had had sex with Gemma, and god, she regretted it. Sure, it was nice. Gemma was nice. Normal. Kind. That was the problem. It was virtually Niko all over again. Lesbian missionary? Was that a thing? Eve hadn’t been with a lot of women (what even was that? five? ten?), but she’d been with enough to know what she wanted. And Gemma, sweet Gemma, wasn’t it.

“She does have very impressive – ” Bill nodded at Gemma’s body.

“Tits? I know. But – ” Eve sighed. Her mind drifted to Villanelle’s chest, the probable binding, the way it looked with the cut of her shirt. Something about the contradiction. Eve shrugged. “I don’t know. Tits aren’t everything.”

Bill kicked her under the table. Gemma was heading back over. Eve looked up. Forced a smile. Gemma took a deep breath.

“Actually Eve, I’d like to speak with you please. During my break. In ten minutes?”

\---

The storage room was small and damp, but warmer than outside at least. Crates of bottles were stacked by the wall. Eve sat on an upturned barrel, as Gemma fiddled with a match, trying and failing to get it to spark. “Here. Let me.” Eve took Gemma’s cigarette into her mouth. Used hers to light it. Sucked. Exhaled. Returned it to Gemma. Fingers brushed.

“You wanted to talk?”

Gemma hesitated. She was clearly nervous. And if Eve were honest, Gemma wasn’t that bad. Eve was a jerk. She knew that. Part of her wanted to try to be nicer.

“I know you’re busy, Eve, and you don’t owe me anything, but I think you’re amazing. And that night when we, you know, had sex? Amazing too. But since then it’s like you don’t even notice me or maybe you’re avoiding me?”

“What? No! I’m just – ”

Just what? Just an asshole? Just using Gemma because she was bored? Just horny and lonely and wondering now if she might repeat it?

“What is it Eve? You can tell me.”

That face. Confused. Worried. Fragile even. Eve could crush her. Make her cry. She wouldn’t, but she could, she could. What had Villanelle said about power and sex, the smug little shit? She could show Villanelle a thing or two. And you know what? Maybe Gemma wasn’t everything, but she was something – and here – and eager – and sometimes she made a whimpering sound that turned Eve on. Like she was scared, just a little. Eve stood. She plucked the cigarette from Gemma’s fingers. Dropped it, smoldering, on the floor.

“Eve? What are you doing?”

“What you want.”

Eve closed the gap quickly. If she was doing this, why wait around? She kissed Gemma roughly. That, at least, was better than talking. Gemma whimpered. Eve swiped her tongue, impatient. Gemma opened. Warm and wet and pliant and fuck – Villanelle was such an asshole. That talk of putty? Her stupid accent and stupid arrogance and fucking mouth and fuck – her jaw – those shoulders when she reached for the bookshelf and god her ass in those trousers and –

“Careful, Eve.”

Eve slowed. She soothed Gemma’s lip that she had just bitten. She reminded herself of who she was with. She trailed light kisses down Gemma’s neck, onto her shoulder, tugging softly at her dress. She fingered a bra strap. Thought of binding. Wow, this fantasy stuck around. Whatever. She might as well use it. Eve could be here and elsewhere too. She had been married to Niko long enough. She slid the bra strap off Gemma’s shoulder, moved her hand across her neckline, between her breasts, sliding lower. Gemma gasped, high and shaky. Eve thought about taping her mouth shut – other gags – Villanelle –

A loud crash came from the bar. The sound of boots. Voices raised. Someone screamed.

“NYPD. Nobody leave. Everyone against the wall.”

_\---_

_You are good at this, Eve. I knew that you would be. You’re very smart. Are you sure you haven’t done it before? It’s just that you’re – What? Okay, okay! I believe you. I’m sorry I doubted you. There’s no need to act offended. You are just a very good learner. I suppose it makes sense. You have me. Years of experience. Yours for the taking. You act as if you want to take me, Eve. You can’t, but still. It is very good. Maria will love it. All of this. All for the case. Solely professional. I respect your commitment. I like that you’re eager. Don’t worry. You’re very close. I’m making you wait but it’s for a good reason. I promise I won’t make you wait too long._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is going to be longer that I expected. 8 chapters instead of 5, I think? Things will start to heat up in the next chapter...
> 
> As always, let me know your thoughts. Kudos and comments greatly appreciated!! Thanks so much for reading
> 
> If you want to know more about this period of queer history, check out my twitter @olderthaneve. I'm going to post some photos there.


	4. The Ethical Dilemma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eve and Villanelle make a decision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: police brutality, mention of deportation

\---

_Come with me, Eve. Into my bedroom. I don’t know if you’ll go to her bedroom, but it’s good to practice different things. Lie down, okay? Don’t worry, it’s very comfortable. Here. I will lie next to you. Roll on your side. Move a bit closer. I can feel your body heat moving between us. It’s very good. It tells me that you want me, Eve. But I need more. I’m going to ask you for something more intimate. I’m going to demand it. You’re going to listen. This is where we stop pretending. This is where we do it for real. Our point of no return._

\---

“Eve Polastri, you piece of shit!”

Villanelle screamed from the open window of her fourth floor apartment. People passed on the street below, drunks and tourists, workers and children. Nobody paid her any attention. Eve had said she was going to visit. Eve should be down there, ringing the buzzer, hearing the screaming, looking up, enraged and amused. No. Not quite. Eve should be here, standing beside her. Drinking her wine. Admiring the way the setting sun threw daggers of light across the room. Villanelle had cleaned the apartment. Swept the floors. Emptied the trash. She had found a bottle of Vin Mariani at the back of a cupboard, the one she had saved for a special occasion. She had rinsed glasses. Changed the bedsheets. She had gone to the market and bought some fruit. Eve might be hungry.

Villanelle had never seen Eve outside of her office. She had pulled a chair over to the window, to sit and watch her walk up the street. Eve would study a scrap of paper to read her address, admiring the tilt of Villanelle’s handwriting. She would look around for the right building, forehead scrunched in slight confusion. Perhaps she would step in a puddle and curse.

Eve wouldn’t stay at Maria’s for long. An hour at most. She would be here shortly. Eight thirty. Nine at the latest.

Ten o-clock came and went. Villanelle’s stomach hurt. Her chest tightened. Jaw clenched. She couldn’t make her thoughts stay still. She didn’t like it. The feeling of wanting, unfulfilled. Villanelle needed to wipe it away.

“You fucking stupid piece of shit.”

She screamed again. At Eve? At herself? She slammed the window. It tilted awkwardly in the frame. She didn’t need to sit here and wait. She was important. She was significant. She grabbed her boots and laced them too tightly. She put on her coat and welcomed its weight. Her weapon was in the inside pocket. The things on which she could rely. She stepped outside, leaving the shame of hope behind her. The warmth of the room. The bag of fruit.

The night air was crisp and dry. A wakeful chill. Her favorite kind. Villanelle headed to Central Park. Business awaited. She moved through the city quickly, to outrun her aching, to clear her head. She breathed deeply. Once she arrived, she would need to focus. Tonight’s job would be straightforward, but her tasks were never simple. They needed talent. They needed skill. Her contribution to the family business. She didn’t know all of the details, mostly because she didn’t care. The mafia were an open secret. They smuggled liquor, ran the nightclubs, offered protection, bribed the police. Different families fought over territory, battled for business. Stiff competition. Cut throat even. Cut. Throat. That, at least, held her interest. Her area of expertise. Konstantin gave her the targets.

\---

When Villanelle arrived in the park, she walked to the Ramble on the north shore of the lake, a secluded forested area that locals called the fruited plain. It had nothing to do with the trees. The men were here – always here – milling around, trading glances, eyeing bodies, following each other into the woods. It didn’t take her long to find him. She had tracked him here often enough.

She tracked him again. He walked along a narrow pathway, whistling softly. She kept her distance, over a bridge, along the shoreline, skirting the clusters of trees that beckoned. She waited until he neared the cave. Disciplined when it came to business. She kicked a bottle to make him scare. He turned. He knew her. Even in the moon’s half-light. He didn’t run, to his credit. She closed the gap. His neck was sweaty, salty, sour. Smelling of men and fear and sex. She held her knife against his throat.

“Hi Felix.”

They were near the entrance to Ramblers’ Cave. A hidden hole in the city park. They descended together. She strode. He stumbled. The steps were slippery with mud and moss. The cave smelled of earth and blood, death and nature. She felt at home. Felix sagged against the wall. He didn’t fight her. What was the point?

“Villanelle. Please. Don’t.”

They were on a first name basis. She wondered if that made it easier. It probably made no difference at all.

“I have a message for your boss. Deliver this to Raymond, okay? Stay off the boats.”

Felix begged her. “You don’t have to do this.” She considered it. They both pretended that she had a choice. The power to grant or deny his request. Denied, of course, but with generosity. She wasn’t a monster.

“Which side? You choose.”

She cupped his face. Stubble and tremble. She always marveled at how fast it grew. “Here?” she asked, dragging her thumb over a cheekbone. She tapped her palm on the other side. “Or here?”

Felix was barely more than a baby. He cried, he fussed, he gripped her thumb as he mumbled “here.”

“Hmm.” Villanelle appraised his choice. She nodded once. “The men will like you more with a scar.” And then she cut him. She did it slowly, teasing almost, dragging her knife from cheek to jaw. It tugged then glided. She chewed her lip in concentration. Resisting the urge to probe with fingers, gently widen, see if she could slip inside. Blood flowed freely. Ran like rivers. Pretty, almost. She could write poems. She could make art. Of rivers and gullies, gods and emperors. She was a god. Above it all.

On quiet nights, she heard it change. The buzz in the air. It moved into a different register, lifting her, buoyant. Sometimes she swore she elevated, her feet a few inches off the ground.

Tonight wasn’t quiet. Cars sounded in the distance. A drunken couple fought nearby. Felix sobbed, loud and messy. So annoying. He sunk to his knees, bloody and snotty, face resting against her thigh. He held her as if they both were victims.

She wished she were wearing it. Just for a moment. Felix would be willing, she thought. He would open for her like a freshly cut wound. Sex and violence would stick together, sliding like spit down the back of his throat. The thought passed quickly. Like pissing your pants on a winter’s night. A moment of warmth then cold and gross and worse than before and honestly, what the fuck was she thinking? His hair was too short. There was no place for her hands to tangle. He would look up at her through teary eyes, on his knees in a show of submission, sniveling in an act of defeat. He wouldn’t sneer as he swallowed her whole, taking her deep to reduce her to nothing, to strip her of power, eyes blazing with lust and derision. He wouldn’t refuse her. Keep her waiting. Keep her wanting. Make her beg like a dog for a bone.

Jesus Christ.

The blood on her leg was already cold. Soon it would dry and harden on fabric, settling in as tomorrow’s stain. She pushed Felix onto the ground. Threw him a handkerchief. Folded her knife and walked away. She left the earthy damp of the cave, thinking of wounding and waiting and wanting. Thinking of women. One woman. Eve.

\---

_Do it, Eve. I’m going to watch you. No. Shh. I don’t want to hear it. You said you would do it. Do it now. Undo your buttons. Open your blouse. There. Easy. Now touch your breasts, over your bra. Keep going. Don’t hold back. Hmm. Okay. Is that how you like it? That’s not going to work with her. She likes it gentle. Hesitant almost. Here. I’ll show you. Feel the contrast? Feel the featherlight touch of my palm? Now my thumb, drawing circles. Brush across her nipple lightly. She doesn’t like it any harder. There’s no need to pinch or twist. Your fingers verge on violence, Eve. Mine know other ways to torture. If we were together, ever? I cannot hold that thought for long._

\---

Eve and Gemma hid in the storage room of the Hangout, listening to the police in the bar. Their bodies drifted apart in the waiting. The waiting didn’t last long. Loud voices issued orders. Glass broke. Somebody pulled the plug on the jukebox. Somebody pulled open the door.

“Hey! Chief. There’s two more in here.”

A cop dragged Eve and Gemma back towards the bar area. The floor was uneven. Sticky and slick with liquor and glass. Gemma stumbled. Eve caught her. The cop shoved Eve hard in the back.

“Move it, freak.”

“Fuck you, asshole.”

“Eve?”

Bill’s voice cut across the room. He stood beside the far back wall, behind the dance floor, huddled close with other customers. The lights were up, harsh and high. A notebook bearing amateur poetry lay in liquid on the floor. Paper puckered. Ink ran. Bill shook his head slightly. Eve breathed. She walked to join him. Gemma followed.

Police raids were rare. Most of the bars paid for protection. A system of bribes to sidestep prohibition gave cover to places like this. Sometimes, somebody got unlucky. A disgruntled neighbor called the police. A bar owner skipped a payment. A cop wanted revenge on a boyfriend. Mostly though, they had an arrangement. A twisted threesome. Mafia. Perverts. Police.

Tonight was different. There were too many officers, too sharply focused. They searched for something. The woman who had sat with the bar owner, Eve Kotchever, now placed her under arrest. An undercover operation. A couple of officers went upstairs, returning with books and magazines.

“Vice squad,” Bill muttered to Eve. “An obscenity raid.”

Villanelle’s letters burned in her pocket.

The police lined them up against the wall, hands over heads, legs spread wide. They ran their hands where they didn’t belong. They used billy clubs to press into places they were not invited, deposit bruises, animate jokes about what women wanted. Eve did as she was told. Everyone did. Dropping pants and hitching up skirts, submitting to their underwear checks. Averting eyes at each others’ searches.

Eve passed. She was woman enough. A stupid bitch with a strange taste in lovers. That’s how they saw her. Not an invert. Not a psychopath. Not one of them.

Eve watched as Lotti and Jay and Jin were placed in handcuffs and dragged away, eyes glinting with tears and defiance. One woman ran up and kissed Jin hard on the mouth. “I love you, baby.” A cop backhanded her for her actions. “I love you too.” The moment required it.

Conflict did that. It made you say things. Made you feel things. Somewhere, Eve had that awareness. She didn’t care. Her thoughts landed on Villanelle. What was she wearing? Where were her injuries? Who was her safety, her rest, her comfort? What if she were here tonight, cocky and hopeless? Wouldn’t Eve kiss her too?

Adrenaline talking. It didn’t mean shit. Eve pictured her face. The cuts. The bruises. They lingered still. Eve had guessed their origin when she first saw them. Paid it no mind. But here, tonight, injustice hit harder, rage ran deeper, demanding attention. Eve wanted to see her. She wanted to tell her. “I stand by your side.” The stupid prick.

The cops left. The bar closed. Gemma asked Eve if she would stay. Wait until the staff cleaned up. Take her home. Eve made her excuses. She wanted to fight. She wanted to fuck. She wanted to burn the city to cinders. She didn’t want Gemma. Bill waited outside on the sidewalk. They watched Jin’s girlfriend leave in tears.

Eve turned to Bill. “At least they’ll all be out by tomorrow.”

“The customers? Yes. The owner? No. Obscenity is a felony charge. She won’t be back anytime soon.”

A felony? Like seduction. “She faces prison? How many years?”

Bill looked at her curiously: “They’re not going to send her to prison. Haven’t you read the news? Foreigners? Radicals? Sexual psychopaths? They’ll deport her.”

Eve tried to concentrate as Bill explained the intricate politics. Deportation in liberal times. But her mind was elsewhere. Villanelle. Eve wanted to see her. Scream at her about the letters. Curse her out for her taking these risks. Trace the shape of her fading bruises. It was past midnight, but not by much. Surely she wasn’t an early sleeper. Eve was supposed to visit her anyway. She told Bill that she had a headache. She would head straight home.

Villanelle had written her address on a piece of paper. Eve hadn’t let her write on her hand. She looked at it now. The loop of the ‘y,’ the stroke of the ’t,’ the stupid ‘x’ she put at the end. She lived nearby. Eve arrived. She rang the buzzer. Nobody answered. Eve sighed. She was probably fucking a gullible woman who would wake to find her money gone. Eve didn’t like the thought or the feeling. Angry or something. She glanced up at the building’s windows. She should leave. Villanelle would be fine. She wasn’t a radical. She wasn’t political. She was just stupid. Eve knew she was Russian. But it’s not like she talked of revolution. She didn’t commit major crimes. She wasn’t involved in big-league corruption. Nothing of consequence. Nothing exciting. Just a petty thief who fucked around.

\---

 _Can I tell you about the violence, Eve? I think you are ready. I think you know that it’s close to sex. Felix knew. He was scared when he saw me. He knew who I was. What I would do. I brushed my thumb across his cheekbone. You know the move. I did it to you and it made you shudder. Felix too. I hurt him, Eve. That’s what’s important. I slashed his face and he fell to his knees._ _He cowered before me. Open and bleeding. I looked at him and I thought of you. Is it okay to think these things? Is it okay to say them out loud? I think it is and I can’t quite believe it. I think you want to know it all. Sometimes I think that you want me to show you. Tell me, Eve. I won’t mind it. Tell me if I’m going mad._

\---

Villanelle thought of Eve as she exited the cave and left Central Park. She thought of Eve on the subway home. She thought of Eve as she turned the corner onto her street, thinking of climbing the stairs to her room, thinking of thinking of Eve in her bed. The things they did in her imagination.

She didn’t think of this.

Eve was there. On the sidewalk. Outside the building. She paced, she muttered, she glared in anger up at the windows. Flesh and blood. Fury and beauty. Eve could show up late forever, if she showed up looking like this. Villanelle wasn’t angry. She had forgiven her. She had decided. That was the way that feelings worked.

Eve turned. She strode towards Villanelle, pulling papers from her pocket, spilling coins and letting them roll. “You wrote her letters? You fucking idiot.”

“Good evening, Villanelle. It is wonderful to see you tonight.” Villanelle spoke in an upper-class accent. “I’m terribly sorry I am five hours late.”

Eve ignored it. She thrust the papers into Villanelle’s chest. The force was nice. “When were you going to tell me about these?”

The letters. Of course. Villanelle scanned them quickly. She understood why Eve was upset. Jealousy, clearly. “They are good, hmm? I can write some for you if you want.”

“What? No. Your letters are shit. They’re also state’s evidence. They prove you seduced her.”

Villanelle sighed. Only four days and they had a routine. Lovers, almost.

“Relax, okay? Don’t be embarrassed. You wanted to help. It didn’t work. It’s okay. Maria will still drop the charges. Anna did. I’ve already told you.”

Eve’s stare was penetrating. Villanelle wanted to move off the sidewalk.

“Okay. I’ll bite. Who was Anna?”

“Do you want to come upstairs?”

\---

The apartment was as Villanelle had left it, except colder. She hadn’t fully closed the window. Eve sat at a small kitchen table. They kept on coats.

“Anna was my tutor, years ago,” Villanelle explained as she lit the coal stove. “Guardian, maybe? We had an affair. She blamed it on me when her husband found out. But she changed her mind. Maria will too.”

“Guardian? How old were you?”

“Do not get ethical, Eve. It doesn’t suit you. Besides, I seduced her, remember?”

The stove fire roared to life. Pipes clanked. The small room would heat soon. The faulty window would be forgotten.

“Where were your parents?”

“This isn’t happy families, okay? I don’t know my father. My mother was in Bellevue.”

Eve winced. Of course, she did. A city detective would know the name. Villanelle didn’t want this conversation. _Like mother, like child_. She heard it all the time from Konstantin.

“Drop it, Eve. Do not say it. They’re not going to send me to the asylum. I’m nothing like her. Besides, she’s dead.”

Villanelle hated the sympathy. The “sorry for your loss” stupidity. She might hate it most of all from Eve.

“I was going to say you’ll be deported.”

Okay, Eve. Unexpected. Blunt too. Uncaring. Maybe enticing? Villanelle took off her coat and hung it on the back of a door.

“Relax, okay? They cannot deport me. I don’t even remember Russia. Now give me your coat. I’ll get us drinks.”

Villanelle walked over to take Eve’s coat.

“What’s that?” Eve pointed to a large blood stain on Villanelle’s pants.

Oops.

“I got my period?”

“By your knee? Nowhere else?”

“You want to examine my crotch, Eve? Be my guest.”

Villanelle opened her arms. An invitation. A provocation. What was the difference? She waited for Eve’s scoffing and cursing. Her curt dismissal. She waited. She waited. The moment lengthened.

“I want to know why your pants are covered in blood.”

“Does it distract you? I can remove them.”

Villanelle wanted Eve’s anger. Her outsized reaction. Nothing happened. She unbuckled her belt. Nothing still. Unbuttoned her pants. Pulled down the zipper. Waited and waited. Eve just stared, almost expectant. Waiting too? Villanelle stepped out of her pants. She stood in front of Eve in her underwear, her button-up shirt hanging low.

“Less distracting?”

Eve didn’t blink. “You have blood on your thigh.”

Villanelle looked down. Eve was right.

“You want to clean it?”

“I don’t care. You can stay dirty. I just want to know whose it is.”

Villanelle pulled the chair from the window closer to Eve. She put her foot up on the seat. She sucked the tip of her thumb slowly.

“Your interest in violence intrigues me, Eve. It seems to stray beyond the professional.”

“My interests go wherever I want.”

What was this exactly? Fighting? Flirting? Were they any different with Eve?

“Really. Hm. And what do you want?” Villanelle wiped at the mark on her leg. The dried blood rehydrated, smearing a little.

“I want you to tell me whose that is.”

Villanelle was torn. She wasn’t supposed to talk about it. Konstantin would kill her. But Eve was asking. Eve was demanding. Unrelenting. Unable to tear her eyes from the blood.

“His name is Felix. I cut his face.”

Eve didn’t flinch. Her breath stayed steady. When she spoke her voice was deeper. “What did it feel like?”

“Shouldn’t you ask me why I did it?”

“Honestly? I don’t care.”

Villanelle licked her thumb again. She tasted blood. It wasn’t Eve’s. “You’ll just lie,” Eve quickly amended. Villanelle paused. Maybe she would. Maybe she wouldn’t. She couldn’t tell where this was heading.

“It felt like nothing. It always does. Except for the part when I thought of you.”

“When you cut him?”

“No. After. When he was bleeding. When he was kneeling. When his face was right here.” Villanelle spread her fingers over her thigh. She thought of Felix. She thought of how she had thought of Eve. She wanted to move her hand higher. She wanted Eve to –

“Did you kill him?”

Villanelle hesitated. She wanted to meet Eve’s expectations. “Mostly, I deliver a warning.”

“Mafia?”

Oh, Eve. So brave. So reckless.

“If I told you, I might have to kill you.” It sounded silly. Villanelle worried she had lost momentum. No need.

“How would you do it? With the knife you used on Felix?”

“No. For you, I would make it special. Intimate, even.” She flexed her fingers. Cracked her knuckles. Put on a show. “These hands that do so much violence? They could tear terrible screams from your body.” Eve swallowed. Villanelle too. “Would you like that?”

Eve didn’t answer. Not with words. Maybe she nodded. Villanelle didn’t notice. Too distracted by skin on skin. Eve touched her first. For the record. Cold palms. Calloused fingers. Villanelle stared at veins and tendons, as Eve’s hands captured her own, flipping them over. A careful inspection. She scratched at the blood on Villanelle’s fingernails.

“Is this yours?”

“No.”

“Hmm.”

A finger settled on Villanelle’s wrist. Her pulse quickened. Eve would feel it, the force she exerted on Villanelle’s heart. It tugged her forward. She needed to kiss her. Now or never.

Now.

No.

Eve moved. She pushed her chair back abruptly. It scraped against the wooden floorboards. She slapped her palms on the table, looking triumphant, as if she had just won an argument. Maybe she had. “Okay, okay. I’ll do it. I’ll tell you.” Villanelle’s hands dangled between them, dropped and forgotten, as Eve continued. “Go wash, okay? We’ve got a lot to figure out.”

“Eve? What? I thought we were – ”

What exactly? Villanelle took in the scene. The blood of a victim. Her foot on a chair. Eve’s questions. Detective’s questions. Studied and abandoned hands. She felt stupid. She was stupid. Eve thought she was stupid too.

“What? No. That wasn’t – wow. I don’t know. Look, it doesn’t matter. I know how to help you.”

Villanelle stood there, clueless.

“It’s just that his blood is kind of distracting.” Eve laughed at herself, shrugging as if it were no big deal. Villanelle still didn’t move. Eve stared. “What are you waiting for? Bathroom. Go.”

Villanelle wanted to protest. And wanted to listen. And wanted to die. Confusion did that. She covered it quickly. “I will masturbate in the bathroom.”

Eve shrugged. “Uh, okay. Whatever. Just be quick.”

The water from the bathroom sink was cold. Villanelle wished it were colder. She rubbed at the soap. She picked at her cuticles. Eve’s voice tunneled through the door.

“Hey! Villanelle. Can I have one of these apples? I’m hungry.”

\---

_Tell me, Eve. When you masturbate, what do you think of? If it’s a person, think of that person. If it’s an object, think of that thing. If it’s violence – Eve, I think it might be violence – think of it now. Don’t stop. Don’t censor. Picture it in your mind’s eye. I need to see it. The signs of lust upon your body. They matter, Eve. They’re hard to fake. Take your lips. They need to redden. Your pupils need to expand. Don’t look away, Eve. Don’t. Wow. Are you embarrassed? Let me help. I’m going to touch you, okay? Just your chin. Just your jaw. I’ll tilt your head and hold it steady. Eye to eye. Stay with me, Eve. Do as I say. Tell me now, in your head, not out loud, what you think of when you come. Every detail. Don’t hold back. Let it take you. Let it change you. There. That’s it. Your eyes are blown. Your lips are perfect. Blood swollen. Eve, you make me want to touch you, to trace the shape and slip of saliva. You make me think that I turn you on. She will too. That’s the play. When you look at her like this, she will not say no._

\---

Eve had thought about saying no. The obvious answer. The sensible choice. She had asked herself the question all evening. Should she do this?

No.

Eve had lied about the fruit, of course. She wasn’t hungry. Not for an apple. She just needed something to bite. She wanted to break something hard into pieces. Puncture skin. Work the muscles of her jaw.

The bathroom door opened. Villanelle reentered the room. Muscle and sinew. T-shirt and shorts. She had taken off her button-up shirt, smirking as she moved to the couch. She leaned back, extending her arms over the headrest. Eve stayed in her chair at the table. She needed the distance. She finished the apple. Discarded the core.

“So, Eve. The big revelation? Your latest plan?”

Eve had one, of course. Her plan had consumed her for the whole evening, from the moment she had left Maria’s. On the El Train. At the bar. On the sidewalk outside the building. Sitting here at Villanelle’s table. She knew how to help her. That part was easy. Deciding whether to do it was hard.

Eve was professional. She had a strategy. Risky, always, but especially here. It would pull her in deeper. Deeper was dangerous. Danger was tempting. Indecision was driving her mad.

Then came the blood.

Unexpected. On Villanelle’s pants, her leg, her fingers. On her conscience.

Eve wanted. God, she wanted.

The blood had helped her to make up her mind.

“I’ve told you about my work, right?” Eve needed to cut to the chase, skip over details of cheating spouses and rules of evidence. Villanelle nodded. “Well, sometimes it isn’t that simple. Sometimes the husband is just an asshole. Controlling maybe. Mean. Boring. Not divorceable. The women are trapped.” Eve stopped. She needed to check. “Did you really cut a man’s face?”

“Uh yes? Why?”

Eve paused. Hesitant still. “What I’m about to tell you? It’s not exactly legal or ethical and – ”

“Shh.”

Villanelle walked to her coat. She pulled a knife from the inside pocket. She opened the blade. She placed it in front of Eve on the table.

“Hold it if it makes you feel better.”

Villanelle returned to the couch. Maybe she needed distance too.

The knife was light. A textured handle. Easy and awkward in Eve’s hand. The blade looked rusty. It wasn’t rust. Eve wanted her camera. Later perhaps. She nodded curtly. She laid it down.

Villanelle had told her how she would kill her. Eve had never felt so alive. She spoke before the feeling retreated.

“Sometimes I entrap the husband. I approach him somewhere. I get to know him. I flirt a little, I make him think we’re going to have sex.” Eve paused. Breathed. Continued. “I lure him to a prearranged location – a hotel room, an alleyway, sometimes the backroom of a bar – and once he’s in a compromised position, I get the photographs.”

Eve closed her eyes, just for a moment. She knew how it sounded. Innocent victims. Illegal traps. She didn’t care. She wasn’t ashamed. Still, she always kept it private. Secret, even.

She opened again to Villanelle.

“Eve! So naughty. You’re full of surprises.” Villanelle grinned at her widely. “Clever also. I like it. I do.”

Villanelle saw her. Actually saw her. Seemed to like her. The feeling took Eve by surprise.

“My point is, I could do the same with Maria.”

Villanelle laughed.“No, you couldn’t. It’s different with women. You wouldn’t know where to start.”

Wow. Asshole. So condescending. So wrong. Fucked up assumptions that ruined the moment. Interesting, though. Possibly useful. Possibly golden. Villanelle thought that she didn’t screw women?

“I could, you know, with Maria.”

_A way to have her and sidestep her ego?_

“Okay, Eve.” Villanelle humored her now, enjoying herself, back on her game. The little shit. “Show me then. How would you do it? How would you seduce a married woman?”

_A way to have her and not cede control?_

Eve stood up. She took off her cardigan. The dress had thin straps and a low neckline. She let down her hair. She walked to the couch where Villanelle sat.

_A way to have this on her own terms?_

“It’s hot in here. Do you have something for me to drink?” Eve ran her fingers through her hair. She licked her lips. “Something with ice? I’m very thirsty.” She flirted as she had done with Niko. Coy. Available. Not any way she had flirted since. Villanelle’s eye’s roamed her body. Her body responded. The part of this that wasn’t performance. She sat down beside her, letting the hem of her dress ride high.

_Why not?_

Her knee brushed against Villanelle’s. Both startled. Neither withdrew.

“No.” Villanelle cleared her throat. “You’re coming on much too strong. You have to be subtle.” She pressed her leg against Eve as she spoke.

“Like you?” Eve snorted.

“I am different with her. I’m very adaptive. I know what she likes.”

“Teach me, then.”

Silence. The moment stretched.

“What?”

“How to seduce her. You could show me. What to do. What to say.” Eve turned to face her, a plan clicking into place. “When I was there, Maria caught me in her bedroom. I did the thing you told me to do, with my eyes.” Eve repeated the move. Villanelle giggled. Eve smacked her. Villanelle stared. “My point is, it worked with her. She asked me to phone her. She likes me, I think.”

Villanelle pouted. “She’s supposed to like me.” It was cute, almost, her insecurity. Jesus Christ. Eve found her cute?

“She’s not going to drop the charges, Villanelle. She’s moving on. But I can go back. I can win this. I just need your help. Like you said, I’m clueless with women.” Eve thought of Gemma a few hours earlier. She thought of thinking of Villanelle.

“Okay, Eve. I will teach you. How to talk with her. How to flirt.” Her eyes dropped to Eve’s lips. “How to kiss her. I assume that’s what you’ll need for evidence?”

Eve’s eyes mimicked the move. “Mmm yeah. You could teach me how to kiss her.”

Eve could smell the soap on her hands. She saw the spread and fade of her bruises, the flecks of color in her eyes. She heard her breathing. She wanted that rhythm, the rock of her body.

Eve stood slowly. She walked the room. She needed to get the timing right.

“I’ll also need something more – definitive. Photos of kissing sometimes look friendly. A good lawyer can reinterpret.”

“Not the way I kiss, Eve. But you’re the boss.” Villanelle stood too, closing the distance. “What should I show you? How to touch her? How to undress her?” Her eyes unraveled the seams of Eve’s clothing. “How to tease her until she moans?”

Eve burned. She fucking burned.

“Okay. Sure. That sounds fine.” She conjured disinterest. Fake and cruel. It felt fantastic. “I’ll be nervous though. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“I have Eve. I know what I’m doing. I will be an excellent teacher.” Villanelle paused. Suspicious, maybe? Insecure? “But why would you do this for me? Seduce Maria? It seems risky.”

“It’s not for you. I just hate losing. And it is going to cost you more.”

“Konstantin’s already paid you a fortune. What more do you want?”

Eve pushed her luck. She couldn’t resist it.

“I want to watch.”

“Watch yourself with a woman, Eve? Kinky. Okay. I can tell you which of her rooms have mirrors and – ”

“No. You. I want to watch you. Working, like you did tonight.”

Villanelle eyed her closely. Spoke slowly. “You want to watch me hurt somebody?”

“Think of it as insurance. You see my crimes. I see yours.”

“I don’t think that’s the reason, Eve. Don’t lie to me.”

Don’t lie? They both were liars. Falsehoods bound them together like fate. Yet, Villanelle’s instruction beckoned. Tempting, even. A drop of truth in a sea of deception? Why not?

“Yeah. You’re right. That’s not my reason.” Eve didn’t have the words to explain it. She didn’t need them. “I just want to watch.”

“Nobody watches me.”

Eve shrugged. “Nobody teaches me either. But you don’t have a choice. It’s this or prison. Or the asylum. Or you’re deported. It’s the only way I’m going to help you.”

“Eve! Tonight, you learned that I slashed a man’s face. You saw his blood. You held the knife. And now you’re giving me ultimatums? Are you stupid?”

Eve laughed. Villanelle’s threat was clearly fake. She was stalling. Maybe squirming. Performance anxiety?

“Are you scared? Maybe you’re not as good as you think?”

“Oh I’m good, Eve. I am the best at many things.”

“Good then. We have a deal.”

Eve reached out her hand for a handshake. Villanelle flipped it and kissed it softly. More sincere than either expected. Eve snatched it back a second too late. She wiped it dry. “Ew gross.”

“You’d better get used to it,” Villanelle teased, warming up to her new role. “I have so much to teach you. Seducing women. Very dirty. Very disgusting.”

“Is that a yes?”

“When do we start?”

\---

_You have her, Eve. She’s yours. She’s willing. What are you going to do with her now? I know you’re thinking about the photographs. Composition. Lighting. Angles. But you need to think of this too. What is her point of no return? Where is the place where she loses all logic? Loses all language? Where she would kill to stop you from stopping? Get her there, Eve. You’ll get all your evidence. Indecent woman. Desperate whore. Do you know that feeling, Eve? It isn’t one you can learn on your own. I want you to know it. I want you to own it. I don’t know what to do with this wanting. I don’t know why it stirs me at night. I’ve forgotten the point, the plot, the logic. Just let me. Let me. Please._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're half way through! Thanks so much for continuing to read. This is the longest fic I've written yet, so I really appreciate your support and encouragement. Please leave kudos or comments if you like the chapter. More soon. Thanks!


	5. The Lessons Learned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Villanelle teaches Eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive thanks to charizona for giving me advice about plotting and to Diana Krege for the incredible 1920s artwork in my profile pic (twitter @dk_srrybb)

_\---_

_I notice these moments as we move through them. I give them a rhythm and wrap them in word-play. Like sea salt in summer. Like words in a song. It helps me remember, reciting the sounds in my head in the silence. Syllables. Consonants. Over and over. I say them out loud and have you again. In my mouth, full and greedy. Pressing your presence into my muscle for future retrieval. I speak of our moments and bring them to permanence. This is how I commit you to memory. This is how I make you mine._

\---

“Are you nervous, Eve?”

Like all things that end in terror, it had seemed like a good idea at the time. Sunday night, two in the morning, flushed with longing, loose with gin. Villanelle’s leg had been right there, pressed against her. Villanelle’s knife had been in her hand. After the police raid, Villanelle had offered a different violence, one Eve might play with, one she might own. So here she was. Three days later. Sitting on Villanelle’s couch in daylight. Mid-afternoon. Awkward as fuck. She sipped a glass of water slowly, nodding, maybe, at Villanelle’s question. Crunching ice.

“It’s okay,” Villanelle reassured her. “I know it is hard to try new things. Don’t be scared. I know what I’m doing.”

No, you don’t.

For the past few days, Eve had run through the plan in her head, committing the moving parts to memory. She would fake her inexperience with women. Villanelle would teach her how. And Eve would steal these moments of pleasure, rushing on power, looting them from a consummate thief. All in the service of trapping Maria. Complicated but also perfection. A master plan. And Villanelle, the all-knowing teacher? Villanelle wouldn’t know shit.

“I know,” said Eve. “But how, exactly? How do we do this?”

“It’s easy, Eve.” Villanelle spoke the words as commands. “Do not question me. Do not doubt me. Just do everything that I say. Will you do that?”

Eve shook her head slightly to mimic ambivalence, biting back laughter. No qualms. No second thoughts. The cocky bastard asked for it, really. “Yes,” Eve whispered. “Yes.”

\---

“ _Hold her hand.”_

_“Like this?”_

_“Yes, that’s good. Later you can kiss her knuckles. Suck softly on her fingers.”_

_“Okay. Mmm. You taste fantastic.”_

_“Stop it, Eve! Not yet. That was just an example. You have to go slow, okay?”_

_“I’m sorry. I’m just nervous.”_

_“It’s okay. You’re doing excellent. You just have to learn to be patient.”_

_“Give me your hand. I’ll try again.”_

\---

On Thursday evening, Villanelle strode into Katinka’s on West 49th Street with Eve on her mind. The place was empty. It was still early. Later that night, the orchestra would play in the ballroom. Cossack performers would take to the stage. The restaurant would fill with Russian locals, trading stories, real and imagined, of their days in the Imperial Army, waxing nostalgic about the tsar.

Pathetic.

Villanelle couldn’t stop thinking of Eve.

She saw Konstantin in the corner of the restaurant. Big man. Small table. Tiny spoon. Tucking into his Nesselrode Pudding. He sat beneath a St. Petersburg mural. Pre-war.

He waved her over. “You want something to eat? My treat?”

Villanelle shuddered. “I hate this food.” She grabbed his spoon and took a bite of the pudding. She drank his tea. “This needs more sugar.”

“How is it going with Detective Polastri?”

Excellent question. The last two days, Villanelle and Eve had been – What exactly? Working together? Making plans? Driving each other crazy, perhaps? If crazy meant horny – meant angry – meant giddy – meant “will you come over later”? Yes.

“Hmm, Eve is good, I suppose. Reckless, also. Smart. Angry. A little bit crazy? Sexy too. She likes me, I think. Soon she will ask me out on a date.”

“Not again with the married women. Please, Villanelle.”

Villanelle kept forgetting Eve’s marriage. Forgetting the ring. Forgetting the jewelry box in her office. It slipped from her mind. It wouldn’t stay centered. No matter. She could circle back to it later. Slipping, centering, circling, Eve.

Konstantin interrupted her thoughts. “I called you here because we have a problem.”

“You didn’t like my work with Felix?”

Eve had liked it. Eve had looked at the blood on her leg. Eve had scratched it off from her fingernail. Eve had asked her for information. Eve had said that she wanted to watch. Eve eve eve eve.

Had a job ever gone better?

“Felix was good. We have a new problem. Another shipment was stolen from the docks on Monday, while Sergei unloaded.”

Villanelle tried to pay attention. Eve might want to hear of it later. “Raymond again?”

“We don’t think so. They called Rosa to sell it back at twice its price. It’s someone without a distribution connection. Police, we think.”

“We already pay the police.”

“Someone got greedy. His name is Frank.”

Boring. But Eve might like it. Corrupt cops had a certain appeal. Villanelle could stage a violent showdown – cops versus gangsters – dressing it up as righteous vengeance. Or would Eve prefer meaningless bloodshed? Villanelle had much to learn.

“Okay. I will take care of him.”

“Not yet. We need to confirm it. We need you to stakeout the Long Island docks. We think he plans to steal the next shipment. You’ll be gone a couple of days.”

\---

_“Are you ready, Eve? To learn how to kiss her?”_

_“Uh, I guess.”_

_“Sit with me then. On the couch. Move a bit closer. That’s good. You have to let her know it’s coming. Here. I’ll show you.”_

_“How long are you going to be gone?”_

_“I don’t know. A couple of nights. Will you miss me?”_

_“No! God. Why would I miss you? We’ve just got a lot to cover.”_

_“Mmm I know. And you need to focus. Look at her lips. Now her eyes. Yeah, like that. Lean in as if you mean to kiss her. She’s going to kiss you goodbye.”_

\---

Eve missed her, the little shit. Or missed their game, their dance, their danger.

They had met on Wednesday. Then on Thursday. Villanelle had called on Friday and asked Eve to talk dirty over the phone. Eve had said that she didn’t know how. Maybe Villanelle could teach her? Then she had tried to masturbate quietly, gasping when Villanelle stopped to accuse her. “I’m just nervous,” Eve had protested, “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

The more she lied, the more she wanted.

“My whole world is totally normal.”

Now she missed her. What the fuck?

Eve needed distraction. The Hangout was still closed after the raid. She phoned Elena. They hadn’t hung out in a fortnight. Elena had the perfect idea. The annual Hamilton Lodge Masquerade Ball.

\---

When Eve turned the corner onto 155th Street, she gasped in awe. Harlem was buzzing.

Music blared from open windows. Trumpets. Drums. Vendors hawked oysters and lemonade. Thousands of people lined the streets. Tourists. Gawkers. Locals who had left their buildings. It rained a little. It didn’t matter. Gasoline dripped from for the tailpipes of cars, streaking rainbows over puddles. Cars that stopped at the Rockland Palace. Cars that carried the evening’s stars.

They stepped from vehicles. Boas and feathers. Wigs and carnations. Rouge and heels. Top hats. Tuxedos. Suspenders. Cigars. Tonight the city wasn’t for normals, their mundane existence, its drudgery and their trudging acceptance. Tonight was Harlem. Black. Spectacular. Tonight was for the daggers and queens.

Eve pushed through the crowds, searching for Elena. She saw her by the Palace entrance, dapper in top hat and tails.

“Eve. You made it. Your first time, yeah?”

“Wow. This is something.”

“Let’s go inside. I got us tickets.”

\---

The ballroom was packed. People traveled from every borough and neighboring states for the Annual Ball. They came as contestants. Came as spectators. Came to dance and drink and screw. Loud with laughter. Never more beautiful. Queer as fuck. Eve and Elena sat near the bar, taking it in.

“Oh my god,” Elena squealed. “That’s Gladys Bentley. She sings at the Clam House. I’d sell my soul to have sex with her voice.” Eve spat out her drink in laughter. Elena continued. “Babe, have you heard it? It’s orgasmic.”

Elena had worked at the Clam House for a couple of months, after quitting the Hangout. She had never been happier. She caught Eve up on the latest gossip. Complained about her boss, Jamie. “He’s over there in the sequined jacket. No idea how he walks in those heels.” She asked Eve about the Hangout. Eve sighed.

“Nobody knows what’s going on. I should ask Kenny. Bill thinks the owner will be deported.”

“God that’s awful.” Elena sipped her drink, then smiled slyly. “Speaking of Bill, he told me that you’ve been up to no good.“

“He told you about Gemma? Fuck.”

“What? No. One of your clients. But what about Gemma? Tell me everything.”

Eve did. Almost everything. The Gemma mistake. The sexy, new, insufferable client, the one who Eve just wanted to strangle, wanted to straddle –

“Shit. She’s here.”

Villanelle had entered the ballroom. Fuck, she looked good. A three-piece suit in black and chalk pinstripes, white shirt, red tie. A matching carnation. Tilted fedora. She moved with purpose. Looking for someone? She headed to the side of the stage. Disappeared through an unmarked door.

Eve wanted to see her. She burned to see her. But –

“Elena. Listen. Me and her, we’re – um – playing a game. So if she sees me and asks you questions? Tell her that I’m into men. For sex, I mean. Only men. Not, you know – ”

“Eve. What are you doing?”

“Look, it’s just a little kink thing. Nothing bad, I promise. But will you do it? If she asks? Tell her that we’re just friends.”

“We are just friends.”

“Yeah I know. I just mean – Oh shit, she’s back. She’s walking this way. Don’t look. Don’t look.”

“Jesus, Eve. You’re like a teenager.” Elena looked around, gleefully. “Tell me or I’m going to start pointing.”

Villanelle hadn’t seen them. She had pulled up a chair to a small table near the concessions. She spun it around and straddled the seat. Two white men in drab gray suits slapped her back and clinked their glasses. She drew a finger over her throat. A slitting motion. She stole a drink. She grabbed her crotch. They laughed together, the laughter of wolves.

Eve sighed. She pointed Villanelle out to Elena.

“Oh my god.”

“She’s gorgeous, right?”

“No. I mean, yeah, sure. But you know who she is, right? She’s with the Vasilievs.”

Konstantin’s name. Eve pretended that she didn’t know it.

“Oh come on. You remember. That shooting at the Five Diamonds last month? That was her. The dismembered body they found by the Hudson? She kills people, Eve. In fucked up ways.”

As if there could be any other.

“How do you know?”

“She comes in the Clam House sometimes. People talk.”

Eve knew it was true. She had thought about it on Sunday night, at Villanelle’s table. She had thought about it every night since. It should repel her. It did the opposite. A fucked up magnet that tugged at her navel. Eve couldn’t explain it. She didn’t need to.

It sounded different, here, with Elena. Eve wanted to shoot the messenger down.

“Why hasn’t she been arrested then?”

“Jesus, Eve. You know the mob run the city. The mayor, the D.A., the chief of police. They’re in it together. The mob can do whatever they want, as long as the liquor keeps flowing. If the mob isn’t coming for them, they don’t give a shit, no matter who dies.”

“Well, as long as they aren’t coming for me, maybe I don’t give a shit either.”

“Listen to yourself. She’s a literal gangster. Look, I know you have your little fantasies. I know you’re into that twisted stuff. No judgment from me, okay? After all those years with Niko? Read what you want. Get off on whatever. Find someone to act it out with, if that’s what you like. Not this, though. She isn’t some made-up character from your dirty stories. She is for real.”

Eve flushed.

“Shit, she’s seen us.”

Eve could feel Villanelle’s stare. She turned to face her. Villanelle raised an eyebrow. Licked her lips. Beckoned Eve with her index finger. Eve didn’t respond. Villanelle stood and walked towards them, easily weaving her way through the crowd. Slow at first. Speeding up. Getting closer.

“Look, I should go and say hi. Better not keep a killer waiting.” Eve tried to joke with Elena. It didn’t work.

“Eve. This isn’t funny. I don’t know what little game you and her are playing, but you need to stop it. Before you get hurt.”

\---

_“Do it, Eve. I’m going to watch you.”_

_“What? No. I feel too stupid.”_

_“Shh. I don’t want to hear it. You said you would do it. Do it now. Undo your buttons. Open your blouse.”_

_“Okay, fine. I did it. See?”_

_“Thank you. Now touch your breasts, over your bra. Keep going. Wow, Eve. Is that how you like it?”_

_“Yeah, why?”_

_“That’s not going to work with her. She likes it gentle. Hesitant almost.”_

_“Ugh, your girlfriend is no fun.”_

_“You want me to have a different girlfriend? Any suggestions?”_

_“Piss off. And help me out. I don’t understand what you mean.”_

_“Here. I’ll show you. Feel the contrast? Feel the featherlight touch of my palm? Now my thumb – ”_

_“Okay. Where’s the line, though? What’s too much? I don’t want to make a mistake.”_

_“You know that you can ask me directly?”_

_“Fuck off. Just do it.”_

_“Okay, Eve. Since you asked nicely. Don’t ever do it like this.”_

\---

Villanelle cut through the crowd, thinking it over.

Eve shouldn’t be here. Not at this masquerade. Not with that woman who works at the Clam House. _I’ve never been with a woman before?_ _My whole world is totally normal?_ Oh Eve. So naughty. So deceitful.

So exciting.

“Who’s your friend?”

Eve met Villanelle halfway between the stage and the bathrooms. Looking stunning. Looking anxious. Halfway between excited and scared.

“Elena? Oh, we work together.”

“I thought you worked alone. Except for that boy assistant.”

“Yeah. I do. I mean, Elena works in one of the hotels that I use in my job.”

“Which one?”

“Why the questions?” Eve had the nerve to act indignant. Villanelle wondered if this was love.

“No reason.” Villanelle dug her hands in her pockets. She rocked on her heels. Too fun. “I’m surprised to see you. I didn’t think that this was your scene.”

“Oh, there are lots of normals here.” Eve answered a little too quickly. “Everyone wants to look at the queens.”

That was true. It did not mean that Eve was truthful.

“What about you, Villanelle?”

“I followed you from your apartment.”

Villanelle couldn’t resist. She watched Eve startle, just a little. Impressive though, how fast she recovered. She could fool a lot of people.

“What do you mean?” Eve sounded nervous. Not angry. Most un-Eve. The final proof that Villanelle needed.

“Relax, Eve! I’m just kidding.” She leaned to whisper into her ear. “I’m here for a job, delivering a dangerous weapon. Want to see?”

“Now? Here?”

“No one will notice. It’s in my pocket. You’ll like it, I promise.”

Villanelle pulled back the lapel of her overcoat, just a little. A pocket breached the satin lining. She kept it close, facing her body.

Eve swallowed. Sexy, Eve. She put her fingers into the pocket. The back of her hand brushed Villanelle’s chest. Eve blushed hard and Villanelle wanted it, over and over, that blood in that face.

“Asshole.”

Eve pulled out a set of car keys and smacked them against Villanelle’s shoulder.

“What? You know how many people I could kill with a car?”

Eve sighed.

“Eve! You are so hard to please. Come. I’ll make it up to you.” Villanelle glanced at her watch. “I have time. Dance with me.”

“I don’t like dancing.”

“So? Maria does. Pretend to be her. I’ll be Josephine. I’ll show you how to be very seductive.”

She walked onto the dance floor. Eve was lying? Villanelle lied better. Eve was playing? Villanelle played to win. Eve followed and stood there awkwardly. As if she didn’t know how to approach her. Whether to touch her. Where to stand. What to do with her hips, her fingers. Real? Pretending? It didn’t matter.

“Eve, you are so cute when you’re awkward. That’s good. It’s easy to make that look romantic. Here. I’ll show you. I will act clumsy. It will make you think I have feelings for you.”

Villanelle changed her posture. She stiffened her body. Widened her eyes in fictional panic. Added a tremble to her lip. She moved her hands awkwardly by her side, as if to the music, a little out of sync with the beat. She looked around nervously. Stepped too close, bumped, apologized, stepped back, shrugged. “Sorry. You make me nervous. I’m not usually like this.”

This was how a professional did it. Amateur Eve could only dream.

“Okay. Impressive, I guess.” Eve stepped into Villanelle’s orbit and held her waist. “Asshole.” The closest their bodies had ever been.

“Not bad, Eve. For a beginner. Now, this is how to make it romantic. Don’t dance. Just sway a little, hardly moving. Let her body beat against you, as if it’s the center of your world.”

Eve did. Villanelle exhaled slowly, relaxing her body. Eve watched and mirrored the move. They fit, somehow, scheming and selfish. Some kind of comfort in each other’s arms. Fake or genuine? Who really cared? Villanelle pulled Eve closer, pressing against her, smelling her fragrance. “You are beautiful, Eve.”

“I thought I was supposed to be Maria.”

“Hmm, you are beautiful, Maria.” Villanelle laughed. “She’s actually not. Beautiful taste in furniture though.”

“Very romantic.”

“Turn around.”

“Huh?”

“I didn’t want romance. I wanted sex.”

Villanelle flipped Eve around. The switch was instant. She pulled Eve close. One hand held her. The other roamed. Thigh, hip, stomach, breast. Eve gasped. She reached behind and pawed at clothing. Hips twitching, just for a second, jerking back against Villanelle’s crotch.

Oh, Eve.

“You know how many women I’ve touched like this? Do you want to watch that too?”

“Is that what I tell Maria?”

Villanelle laughed. “Very good. Always professional.” Her lips brushed the side of Eve’s neck. Eve shivered. “Almost always. Lean your head back on my shoulder.”

Eve did. The muscles in her throat lengthened.

“Listen to me. I want you. I do. From the second I saw you. I want to watch you come undone. I’m done with waiting. I’m doing with pretending. So we’re going to dance and when the song ends, I’m going to take you to some place more private where no one can see us and you’re going to do whatever I tell you. Touch yourself while I watch you. Get on your knees. Undress. Beg. We’re going to stop whatever this game is, and you’re going to say it, you’re going to admit it, how much you want me.”

She dug her fingers into Eve’s hip bones. “There’s an exit door by the side of the stage.” The band stopped playing. Another song started. “Go.”

Eve walked. One step. Two. Three. Villanelle laughed. Loud. Delirious. Eve stopped. Froze. Turned. Her face was priceless. Confusion, lust, righteous fury.

Villanelle shrugged. “What, Eve? That was something to tell Maria. Did you think – ? Wow, really? So unprofessional.”

Eve hit her. She honestly hit her. This was too cute.

“You are an asshole.”

“And you are amazing. Have a good night, Eve.”

“Where are you going?”

“Back to work.”

“I want to come.”

The words swelled and stretched into silence. Villanelle broke it first.

“Go, Eve. Play with your friend. My work tonight is not for you. I will pick you up on Friday. Friday night will be yours.”

\---

Villanelle didn’t wait until Friday. She phoned Eve on Monday. They met on Wednesday. Again on Thursday. If Eve pretended she needed to learn, who was Villanelle to deny her?

They planned to entrap Maria on Saturday.

“How do you get the photographs, Eve? Do you do bondage?”

Eve spluttered. “What? Why?”

“When you frame husbands for adultery? Do you tie them up first?”

Eve looked embarrassed. With good reason. Dom took the photographs.

“The boy assistant? Eve, he’s a child!”

“No he’s not. He’s – I don’t know – sixteen maybe. Seventeen. Whatever. What’s your point?”

Villanelle’s point was simple. She should photograph Eve with Maria. Not the boy. Eve said _no_. Also _fuck_. Also _no way_ and _don’t even_. Villanelle tried to charm her. No use. Eve was immovable.

“Fine, Eve. I will still help you. There’s a back door that the boy can use. Can we get back to work now? You still have a lot to learn.”

\---

On Friday night, Villanelle was nervous. NYPD had an event at the Cotton Club. Frank would be there. Eve would watch. Villanelle had borrowed a car. A Ford Model T. She had cleaned it earlier. Polished the metal. Wiped the dashboard. Adjusted the tilt of the passenger seat. Eve should be comfortable.

“Are you nervous, Eve?”

They had parked in an alleyway opposite the club. Eve kept fiddling with the door.

“Maybe. I want this though. Whatever it is.”

Villanelle wanted to kiss her. Eve changed the subject. “Do you run this place?” She pointed to the nightclub opposite.

“No. Clubs are for amateurs. We are suppliers.”

“It comes from Canada?”

“And the Bahamas. The ships stop a few miles off the coast. We have boats that smuggle the liquor ashore. I am the muscle of the operation.”

Eve snorted.

“What? I am. There are rival gangs. One man, Raymond? He invested in speedboats and hijacked ours. That is why I attacked Felix. I deliver a warning.” Villanelle dropped her voice to sound intimidating. “Stay off the boats.”

“Are you, um, attacking one of Raymond’s people tonight?”

Thank god Villanelle had listened to Konstantin. Eve was interested. Eve was a fan.

“No. Corrupt police. His name is Frank. Double-dipping. Bribes and theft.” And then, perhaps, as extra flourish. “I spied on him during a stakeout.”

Eve brightened. “Can I see the photographs?”

Detective Eve and her stupid evidence. Villanelle deflated under her gaze. “I have an excellent memory. I don’t need photographs.”

“Ha. Who’s the amateur now?”

\---

They waited outside the club for hours.

\---

_“When you masturbate, what do you think of?”_

_“Seriously? You want me to tell you?”_

_“Not out loud. Just think about it. If it’s a person, think of that person. If it’s an object, think of that thing. If it’s violence – Eve, I think it might be violence – ”_

_“No shit. Why should I do this?”_

_“You’ll need to do it with Maria. To look aroused. She’ll need to see it. Need to smell it.”_

_“Shut up.”_

_“What, Eve? Are you embarrassed?”_

_“No. Yeah. I don’t know.”_

_“Eve, it’s fine. Just tell me now, in your head, what you think of when you masturbate. Every detail. Don’t hold back.”_

_“Okay, weirdo. Give me a minute. Okay. Mmm. Okay. Fuck.”_

_“Jesus, Eve. I want to touch you. Can I touch you?”_

_“No.”_

_“Please?”_

_“No.”_

_“Are you still angry about the dance?”_

_“What? No. I don’t even think about it.”_

_“Eve? Come here. Your eyes. Your lips. You make me think that I turn you on. Do I Eve? I do, don’t I?_

\---

“Don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

At midnight, Villanelle left to locate Frank. Eve had promised to wait in the car. Now she really needed to piss.

Pissing didn’t count as stupid.

Eve grabbed her purse with her stash of tissues. She walked behind a nearby dumpster. Wished that she had worn a dress. Whatever. She crouched and sighed. Pissing felt good.

Eve heard voices. Two older men had entered the alleyway. They stood near the opposite wall. Pissing too? Only one pulled out his penis. The other knelt. Fuck.

Eve didn’t know why she did it. Maybe it was her prime location. Maybe it was the thrill of the night. Maybe it was her camera right there, in her bag, on top of the tissues.

The photographs wouldn’t be great in this lighting. It didn’t matter. Eve did what she always did. She took her shot.

The men didn’t take long to finish. One left. The other lingered. Eve stared at his pock-marked face. After he’d gone, Eve stood to return to the car. Too late. More voices. Eve ducked. Villanelle, with a weasel-like man stumbling ahead of her, already sobbing, gun at his back. Villanelle glanced at the car. The empty seats. Eve rolled a bottle to get her attention. It worked. Villanelle saw her. Startled. Softened. Reassured. She brought Frank closer, next to the dumpster.

“Get on your knees.”

Eve was relieved to be already crouching. She would have fallen. This close to violence, to Villanelle. Cruel and focused. Frank babbled, offering money.

“I don’t want your money.”

“I’ll do anything.”

“Lick my boots.”

Villanelle said it for Eve. And in that moment – fuck, in that moment – Eve wanted power, but –

Frank balked then lowered his head. Villanelle kicked him hard in the chin. He fell back on concrete, blood spurting.

“You disgust me.”

The words tugged at Eve’s core. Villanelle spat in Frank’s face. Eve wanted. Fuck, she wanted. Villanelle knew. Eve didn’t care

“You like this, huh?” Eve was nodding. Frank was crying. Villanelle was breathing hard.

“How do you want it? With my hands? I could choke you.” She tightened her fingers around Frank’s throat, pulling him upward.

“Maybe hurt you, just a little, if that’s what you want.” A backhand and he was back on the ground.

“You want my boots? I’ve seen you looking.” She stomped on his balls.

“What are your limits? I’ll respect them.” She pointed the gun at Frank’s kneecap. Looked at Eve. Eve mouthed _no_. “Okay.” She turned to Frank. “Stay off the docks.” She smashed the gun into his head. He fell unconscious. She walked to the dumpster and held out a hand.

“Come with me.”

Eve gestured at Frank. “What about – ”

“Just you and me.”

Eve nodded. Her hands were shaking. Villanelle led her to the car.

_\---_

They started to drive. Eve talked.

“What happens next?”

“What do you mean? He’s alive. We don’t need to dispose of a body.”

“I mean you. What do you do to unwind or whatever?”

“Do you mean sex?” Eve shrugged. Was she doing this? Really doing this? “Yes, Eve. I like to have sex after I hurt someone.”

Villanelle turned on the windshield wipers. It had started to rain. They screeched across glass. Eve persisted.

“Is that what you’ll do tonight? After you drop me off at home?”

Villanelle stared straight ahead. Her jaw pulsed. Knuckles white from her grip on the wheel.

“I’m not dropping you anywhere, Eve. You are coming home with me.”

Eve didn’t answer. The sound of wipers filled the car. They moved through city streets in silence. Ten minutes. Fifteen. Twenty.

Villanelle turned a final corner. Turned to Eve.

“This is what you wanted, right?”

A bug splatted against the windshield. The wipers dragged the debris sideways. Eve watched the motion, unrelenting, rhythmically pulling a body apart. Soon there would be nothing remaining.

“This is what I wanted. Yes.”

\---

Villanelle parked. She opened Eve’s door, nodding curtly. They walked up the building stairs in silence. Villanelle took out her key.

“It’s hot in here.”

Eve watched as Villanelle shrugged off her coat. She placed her gun on the table. Undid buttons of her shirt. She kept on the boots. Eve thought of mouths and blood and concrete. Of Villanelle. She wondered if their thoughts collided. If their bodies –

The tension inside of her wound like a spring.

Villanelle paced the room.

“Do you have sex with the husbands? When you trap them?”

Eve startled. “What? No.”

“Sometimes though? You’ve done it before?”

Villanelle seemed anxious, angry. Eve didn’t know how to answer.

“Tell me, Eve. You owe me, okay?”

She stepped towards Eve, towering over her. Tall in her boots. Eve in her stockings. Eve was confused. “Once,” she conceded.

“What about her? Are you going to have sex with Maria?”

“What? No.” Eve didn’t know where this was heading.

“But what if you need to? To keep your cover.”

Villanelle moved in closer, cornering Eve against the counter. They had practiced this move together on Wednesday. _Rest your finger over her breastbone._ Now it was different. Villanelle wasn’t teasing or teaching. Villanelle was coming undone.

She grabbed at Eve’s belt.

“What are you – ”

“Listen, Eve. This will all be over tomorrow. You will go there. Then it’s done. What if she knows it’s her only chance? That you won’t come back? What if she wants you so bad she can’t keep her hands off you? So fucking desperate that she would do anything, Eve, I mean anything. Her hands are on you, pulling you, needing you. Will you let her? What will you tell her? She’s begging you, Eve. She’s begging to fuck you.”

Eve stared at the hand that gripped her waistband. Another hand twisted her chin.

“Look at me, Eve.” She shouted it, almost.

“I’ve thought about it. What I would do.”

Villanelle’s nostrils flared. “Tell me.”

Eve breathed deeply. She closed her eyes, needing a moment. When she opened them, she was certain. “I need you to show me.”

Villanelle snarled, unbidden. She pulled at Eve’s blouse. Wild. Inefficient.

“I need you to show me how to have sex with her.”

Villanelle unbuckled the belt. “Jesus, Eve. Don’t stop talking.”

“I need you to show me how to touch her.”

Villanelle undid a button. Pulled down a zip. She opened a space between skin and clothing. Small but sufficient to let through a hand, shoving and urgent. It pushed into underwear. The thin material caved at her touch.

“Show me how to take off her clothes.”

She pulled down Eve’s pants and underwear onto her thighs.

“Show me where to put my fingers.”

Villanelle pressed against her, wild and messy, feeling her way through tucked away skin. She gasped at the fact of it. Slipped in the thick of it. Sliding, finding, centering Eve.

“Keep going.”

“How to move.” Eve struggled to keep her voice even.

Villanelle circled her fingers. They pulled Eve into the coming storm. Eve started to ride it. She tried to resist it. She clung to her anchor of disinterest. Unmooring.

“What next?”

“When to enter her.”

Villanelle slid inside of Eve.

Eve gasped. She couldn’t help it. One of them cursed. Both of them stilled.

“I’m waiting, Eve.”

“I need you to show me how to fuck her.”

Villanelle fucked Eve roughly. Bordering violence. Losing control. She issued orders, or maybe she begged. “Say it, Eve, say it, say it.”

“Show me how to make her come.”

It wouldn’t take much. Villanelle used both hands. She came apart under Eve’s tightening, mumbling out a mess of words, losing language, logic, reason. Eve eve eve eve

All that Eve had ever wanted.

“Okay. You can stop.”

Villanelle didn’t hear her. Or didn’t listen. Or didn’t care. Eve touched her wrist gently.

“It’s okay. I get it now. I know how to do it. You can stop.”

Villanelle stared. Confusion. Realization. Refusal.

“No, Eve, no. Don’t you dare.” She fluttered her fingers inside of Eve. “Stop pretending. Let me, okay? Let yourself have me. Don’t make me don’t make me – ”

“Stop, baby.”

Eve felt the drop of fingers leaving. She watched as Villanelle sank to her knees. Feral and hopeless. Lethal and needy.

“You want this. You do.”

Eve smiled, fondly. The fondness surprised her. “Not as much as I wanted this.”

Eve moved to pull up her pants, flushed with blood and sex and power. Villanelle stopped her. “No, Eve. Don’t. Please. Listen.” Eve waited. “Will you undress for me?”

“Isn’t that a little bit backward? We just – ”

“I just want to see you. I promise that I won’t move from the floor. After tomorrow, there won’t be a reason – ”

Eve jolted. The thought of this ending. Somehow, she had pushed that aside. As if she could play this game forever. Wishful thinking. Stupid. Stupid. Villanelle’s eyes were wide and shiny. Her skin was sweaty. She panted slightly. “Can I show you how to undress her? It can be the last thing I show you. Please, Eve. Please?”

God, she sounded good when she begged.

Eve nodded.

Villanelle stood carefully, as if this moment could break with a touch. Maybe it could.

“Close your eyes. That’s what you tell her. Close your eyes. I will take care of you.”

“Close your eyes,” Eve repeated it.

“Mmm that’s right. Why don’t you close yours also?”

“Are you going to – ”

“No. I promise. There. That’s good. Eve, I’m going to undress you now.”

Villanelle pulled off Eve’s pants. Eve stumbled a little. She reached out a hand, regaining balance on Villanelle’s shoulder, kneeling before her. Eve knew that she must see her scar.

“Are you looking?” Eve asked.

“Does it hurt you?”

“Mmm. Sometimes.”

“A good hurt?”

Who else would ask that question? Eve shook her head, smiling.

“I make scars. It’s part of my job.”

Eve wanted more. She wanted. She waited. Nothing came.

Villanelle removed Eve’s clothes.

An unbuttoned blouse. The air was warm as it slipped from her shoulders. Hands unhooked the clasp of her bra. Eve leant towards them, seeking contact. She didn’t find it. Villanelle was truly an expert. Careful and cunning. Her absence and strategy made Eve burn. It buzzed between them – power and longing – rising in spirals.

“Open your eyes.”

Eve did. Villanelle sat back on the floor. Nothing but hunger. Eve absorbed the lust of her gaze. “Is that the way I should look at Maria?”

Villanelle laughed, shaking her head. “I never tried. She’s too self-conscious.”

“Not me.”

“What do you feel? Right now?”

“Mine.”

There it was. Nobody owned her. Nobody owed her. Nobody made demands of her body. No disappointments, or expectations, or mundane trade-offs that lovers required. Eve was her own. Standing. Naked. Now with Villanelle at her feet. She didn’t know how to describe the feeling.

“Lie with me, Eve? Just for a little. I just want the moment. I just want the memory.”

Eve nodded. She understood. This couldn’t continue. She went to the bedroom.

Villanelle laid beside her. Didn’t touch her. Not her cheek, her hair, her hip bone. “I don’t understand you at all.”

Eve shrugged. “Understanding is overrated. I am what I am. I know what I want.”

“It isn’t me?” Villanelle looked at Eve in wonder.

Eve laughed. Arrogant, still. Fuck, there was that feeling again. “To be honest, I don’t know what this is.”

“Will you stay? I won’t touch you if you don’t ask me. Eve, I’ll even sleep on the floor.”

It was tempting.

“I need to go. Tomorrow’s going to be strange enough. With Maria.”

Eve got up and walked to the living room. She gathered her clothes. She put them on. Villanelle watched her from the doorway.

“Can I drive you there tomorrow? I’ll still have the car.”

Eve smiled again. A new habit. She didn’t mind it. When was the last time she felt this good?

“My house, at six?”

“I’ll see you then. Goodnight, Eve.”

\---

_I am not stupid. I know I can’t keep you. I know what I am and what I am not. I know what I have, but only in fragments, only in fantasies. Only in words I recite in my head. Over and over. This will be over. You will be over me. Distant. Angry. Always the way. And when that happens? When fantasies falter, unable to tarry? I will fall back on my soundbank of sentences, word-tricks and triggers, that conjure up memories of these moments. Moments when I almost had you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was hard to write! Please let me know if you liked it. Thank you!!


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